


Breathing

by mistleto3



Series: Breathing [1]
Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Universe Alteration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-05-23 00:36:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 39,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6099118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistleto3/pseuds/mistleto3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Tatara survives the shooting.</p><p> </p><p>  <em>Redrafted as of August 2017.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue and Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: As of the 5th of July 2017, I've begun a redraft of this fic, in preparation for the sequel, which if all goes well will hopefully begin on Mikoto's birthday in August. I'm working through the chapters, and will update this again once the redraft is completed.
> 
> Edit 2: As of the 2nd of August 2017, the redraft of this fic is complete. Most of the changes have been minor, but I have made significant additions especially to the epilogue, so I recommend rereading this if you plan to read the sequel ^^
> 
> Edit 3: As of the 13th of August 2017, the first chapter of the sequel, _[Awakening](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11791962/chapters/26594070)_ has been posted! The sequel will cover the Missing Kings and Return of Kings timeline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter can also be found on: [Tumblr](http://mikototsu-trash.tumblr.com/post/139313648238/breathing-prologue-and-part-1)
> 
> _Redrafted 05/07/17_

**Prologue**

“Hey… don’t sweat it. It’ll all work out…” Tatara’s voice was laboured; the words were breathy and pained, despite the smile on his bloodied lips. “Sorry…” His eyelids trembled briefly with the effort of staying open, then slid closed, and his head dropped forwards against his friend’s chest.

Misaki stared at him in disbelief, his eyes wide with terror.

“Totsuka-san…?” His voice was quiet at first, then grew louder as he repeated, insistently: “Totsuka-san!” in the hope it might wake him. Tears flooded down his cheeks, leaving streaks through the bloody handprint Tatara had left on his face as he began screaming in vicious disbelief, clutching his friend as he begged for him not to fall asleep, his voice wavering.

But after a moment, a sharp snap from Izumo cut off the cries in his mouth. “Wait, Yata-san! He’s still breathing.”

Misaki pressed his trembling fingers beneath Tatara’s jaw, and a sob of relief tore past his lips as he felt his pulse still fluttering weakly under his skin.

“Quickly, put pressure on the wound.”

Misaki obeyed instantly, pulling off his shirt and using the bundled fabric to stem the steady flow of dark blood. As he knelt, muttering a stream of frantic implorations for his friend not to leave him, Izumo paced back and forth a short distance away. His fingertips had turned white from the vice-like grip he had on his phone as he spoke in fraught tones to an ambulance dispatcher, trying to shut out the sound of Misaki’s begging that Tatara “Stay with us, okay? Just hang on a little longer, please!”

* * *

 

**Part 1**

All of Hell’s legions wouldn’t have stood in Mikoto’s way as he entered the hospital that night. His whole body was wracked with tension; every muscle and tendon was pulled taut beneath his skin. He seemed as though at any moment, whatever chthonic force was battering on the inside of his ribcage would erupt from his body and burn the hospital waiting room to dust; red sparks hissed from the soles of his shoes as they scuffed the cold tile, and there was a dark, fraught look in his eyes. Quietly, a war was being fought within him, and he was losing.

Anna gripped the sleeve of his coat, tripping into a run every so often to keep up with his stride. As the pair entered the waiting room, which was almost empty this late at night, she caught sight of Izumo and Misaki, and released her grip on Mikoto’s jacket to take a seat between them. Misaki sat with his head in his hands, desperately trying to keep the shaking of his shoulders from betraying his sobs. His skin was still smeared in Tatara’s blood. Izumo sat in uncharacteristic silence; his face was deadpan, and he kept any fear in his eyes concealed behind their tinted lenses. As Anna sat down, he rested a hand on her shoulder in a hollow attempt at comfort. Anna looked up at him and the pair exchanged a glance, her usually expressionless features marred by a frown as she fiddled anxiously with a cracked glass marble between her fingers.  

Meanwhile, Mikoto approached the information desk and spoke the name “Totsuka Tatara” in a softly threatening tone. Nobody dared ask him to prove he was family.

“He’s in surgery now. A doctor will come out to give you an update on his condition soon.”

He gave a stiff nod, and recommenced his agitated pacing around the waiting room. The urge to flee the sterile white building, hunt down Tatara’s attacker and turn them to ash was almost uncontrollable, regardless of what he knew the consequences would be. It was only the desire to be there when Tatara woke up, or to know if he wasn’t going to, that kept him there.

Over the course of the evening, the rest of the clan had filtered in and taken up a vigil in the waiting room; the gang of usually rowdy young men was stone silent the entire time, their heads bowed in what almost looked like prayer. They barely exchanged a word, and every one of them looked exhausted with worry; they all had dark circles of varying intensity beneath their hollow-looking eyes. Many had clearly been in bed when they received the phone call telling them what happened and had simply thrown on the first clothes they put their hands on before hurrying over. Rikio periodically went around handing out cups of coffee, and had brought with him a change of clothes for Misaki on Izumo’s request.

Weak grey light had begun to seep over the horizon and trickle dully into the room before they received any more information. A haggard-looking surgeon called out for the family of Mr. Totsuka, and a dozen heads snapped around to focus their dark gazes upon her. She stepped forward to address them, appearing unfazed.

“He was very lucky- the bullet missed his major blood vessels. He had a punctured lung, and he lost a lot of blood, but it was nothing we couldn’t fix. The bullet has been removed and he’s stable, they’re just closing him up now. He should make a full recovery.” A collective sigh of relief issued from the clansmen; everyone in the room had been afraid to breathe up until this point.

Mikoto spoke for the first time since he arrived. “How soon can we see him?”

“Obviously you can’t all go in at once. It’ll be at least an hour before he can have any visitors, and then only a couple at a time.” Her pager went off and she hurried away before the King’s incendiary glare could change her mind.

That hour inched by agonizingly. In the silence of the waiting room, the sluggish ticking of the clock cut unnaturally loudly through the tension that seemed to clot the air in the room. Mikoto struggled to draw breath.

When a nurse finally returned to tell them Tatara could have visitors, Mikoto was out of his seat before she had finished speaking the first word. Misaki sprang to his feet to follow, but Izumo caught his wrist, murmuring that they should give Mikoto a minute. Mikoto heard the quiet warning, but it didn’t register; everything around him sounded muffled, as though he were hearing it through a pane of glass.

 

Tatara was a man who acted as though nothing in the world could ever harm him. No matter how much danger he found himself in, no matter how many times he ended up in the hospital, no matter how many stitches he needed or bones he broke, he would react in the same manner: he would smile and waft away Mikoto’s concern with a dismissive gesture and the same old catch-phrase: “Don’t sweat it.”

This time was different. This time, Tatara seemed frail and small, swamped by the thin hospital gown that hung from his limbs, and his skin was pallid, even against the sterile white sheets. Mikoto had never seen so many different wires and monitors attached to a person. Cables and tubes trailed across his papery skin and hung from machines that filled the room with an artificial humming. Tatara’s breathing was too weak to hear, though his chest did rise and fall, but the movements were so slight it would have been easy to miss them. The only other sound was the ticking clock, and the low, steady beeping of the heart monitor; if it weren’t for the latter, Mikoto would have thought Tatara was dead. He had never seen him, such a vibrant, animated person, so unnervingly still.

Mikoto sat in the chair beside his bed and tentatively laid his hand on top of Tatara’s. His eyelashes quivered, then parted, and he turned his head slowly to look at Mikoto.

“King…”

“Who did this to you?”

A weak smile quirked up in the corner of Tatara’s mouth, remembering the first time Mikoto had come to see him in hospital, back when they were in school. He’d said the same thing then, too.

“Tatara.” His tone was stiff.

“I didn’t know them. I don’t remember their face, but I might have caught it on my camera; I was up there filming.”

 Mikoto said nothing, weaving his fingers between Tatara’s and gripping his hand as gently as he was capable of, as though afraid the slightest knock would shatter him.

 “Hey, it’s alright, don’t wo-“

“Don’t.” To the surprise of both of them, Mikoto’s voice cracked.

Tatara squeezed his hand, looking up at him with much more concern for Mikoto than he held for himself.

They stayed like that in silence for a drawn-out moment. From where Tatara’s hand touched his own, Mikoto felt a warmth spread through his body, relaxing the taut muscles and scaring the beast that had been threatening to tear its way out of his chest back into the dark hollow from which it came. Pacing around that waiting room, he’d been having visions of a surgeon coming out to tell him they did everything they could, but it wasn’t enough. Visions of seeing Tatara’s body, his skin eerily white and cold to the touch, his lips blue and his eyes glassy. It was only now that those images finally began to recede; the gentle grip of Tatara’s hand and the fluttering pulse beneath its skin sent a calm diffusing across him, the way flames engulf charcoal and turn it white.

“I thought you were going to die.” Mikoto confessed, and Tatara understood that what he really meant was _I was terrified._

“I’m sorry.”

Mikoto leaned down and pressed his lips to Tatara’s with an aching tenderness, and let them linger there, cupping his cheek with his free hand. He savoured the warmth of the kiss, proof that Tatara was still alive.

After a few seconds, a knock at the door drew them back to their surroundings. Mikoto reluctantly broke the kiss and sat up again, and Tatara called the visitors into the room. Misaki entered, holding Anna’s hand, and following them was Tatara’s surgeon.

“Anna! Happy birthday!” Tatara smiled widely, but his voice was still noticeably feeble. The girl perched on the edge of his mattress and he kissed her hand. “You’re so grown up; you’re becoming a fine young lady.” 

Then he turned to Yata, who had cleaned himself up since Mikoto had left the waiting room. “Thank you,” he said simply, and Misaki nodded, unsure of what to say in response. Thankfully, he was rescued by the surgeon, who commenced her post-op checks and ran them through the recovery process.

“How long until I can go home?” Tatara asked.

“You should be able to leave in about two weeks provided everything goes smoothly, though it’ll be at least two or three months before you’re back to normal; you’ll have to take it easy until then.”

Tatara sighed. “That long eh? I know, I know, I should be happy it wasn’t worse…” He gave an abashed smile.

“You were lucky; the bullet only grazed your lung. A more direct puncture would have kept you down much longer.” The surgeon agreed. If she had noticed her patient’s grip on Mikoto’s hand, she didn’t react. “You’re young, and we got you into surgery quickly. Your prognosis is very good. Just follow the advice you’re given and it should be smooth sailing.”


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter can also be found on [Tumblr](http://mikototsu-trash.tumblr.com/post/139554974968/breathing-part-2)
> 
> _Redrafted 05/07/17_

Mikoto hardly moved from his seat that day until hours after dark. Tatara had long since fallen asleep, but it still took Izumo a fair amount of brisk convincing before Mikoto could be persuaded to leave his bedside. Reluctantly, he allowed himself to be taken back to Homra, fed, and sent to bed, though he still had to be lectured for a while about taking care of himself as not to worry Tatara before he finally conceded.

He woke more exhausted than he had been the evening before; the nightmares that harassed him were merciless when Tatara wasn’t there to ward them back. Like always, he found himself in the centre of a crater, encircled by wreckage and flames. But this time, through the smoke he could see Tatara’s body sprawled unnaturally on the ground, a scarlet stain blooming across the front of his shirt. Mikoto staggered towards him and drew him into his arms; his skin was cold to the touch.

“Your powers were meant to protect...”  Tatara’s voice was feeble as he raised a bloodied hand to cup Mikoto’s cheek. Weakly, he leaned up to brush his lips against his King’s, then fell back, and was gone.

Mikoto woke to the bitter smell of burning; his aura had singed through his sheets.

It took him a tremendous effort to force himself to take a shower and eat something, but he knew Tatara would worry if he showed up at his bedside looking bedraggled. So he went through the motions of cleaning himself, styling his hair, brushing his teeth, putting on his jewellery and cologne and pretending everything was fine. But no amount of soap and toiletries could conceal the hollow look in his eyes.

When he came downstairs, Izumo called out to him: “Oi, Mikoto. We’ve got a lead; Tatara filmed his shooter and we managed to recover the tape, an’ we know what weapon he used. Looks like it comes from an underground gun dealer operatin’ not far from here. Apparently disappeared a few weeks ago, so we’ll send some guys to investigate tomorrow morning. We’ve also got a partial facial recognition match in the personnel database of a firm in the city, but that’ll be a bigger operation, plus it’s outside of our domain... Mikoto?”

Mikoto, who hadn’t acknowledged him yet, merely grunted in reply. Agitation seemed to emanate out of him; ever since he’d woken up, he’d been itching to return to the hospital, and delaying his visit to make himself look presentable had only irritated him more. He shoved open the door and headed out without a word, lighting a cigarette as he stepped out of the bar.

Tatara was worse when Mikoto finally arrived. He looked as though he was made of porcelain; his skin was so pallid that even the shadow of his eyelashes appeared stark against the white flesh, and there was a sheen of sweat covering his forehead. It seemed as though the gentlest of touches would send cracks spiderwebbing across his body, and he would fall to pieces.

A nurse came into Tatara’s room to check his vitals, and Mikoto caught his attention.

“What’s wrong with him?”

The nurse flicked through his chart.

“His wound is infected.  It’s only superficial at the site of his injury, and they caught it and started treating it quickly. He should be okay, but he has a fever so we’re keeping a close eye on him. It could be quite dangerous if it spreads.”

Tatara’s eyes finally flickered open at the sound of the conversation, and Mikoto frowned; he was usually a very light sleeper, but it had taken him a while to come to. There was a greyish, waxy quality to his skin, and the movement of his breathing was laboured.

“You’re his friend?” the nurse asked.

“Boyfriend,” Tatara chirped up, but his voice was croaky and feeble. He held out his hand, and Mikoto came to him obediently and clasped it in his own, instantly noticing how clammy and unnaturally warm his palms were.

The nurse offered them a smile, then excused himself to give them some privacy.

Mikoto didn’t say anything; he merely stared at the ground, unable to look at Tatara so weak.

“Are you okay?”

Mikoto’s eyes flickered up at the hoarse voice, and Tatara caught his gaze with his own, examining his expression. Pain burned in every line on Mikoto’s face, and he knew he could never hope to hide it, not from Tatara. It seemed to him that every hour he spent away from his lover, Death crept quietly closer to him, preparing to steal him away whilst he was unprotected. The guilt that he let Tatara go out late at night on his own was corroding away at Mikoto’s insides.  The black, abyssal terror of losing him, of being alone with nothing to keep the nightmares at bay, nothing to keep the beast inside him from tearing its way out, was slowly consuming him. That gentle boy kept all the furious power of the Red King contained. If he died, it would destroy Mikoto, and in all likelihood, everything else in the city along with him.

When Mikoto didn’t respond, Tatara didn’t press for an answer; his thoughts, his fear, were written on his face.

“It’s me who should be asking that,” Mikoto said finally.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” Mikoto tensed at the words. _Don’t worry._ What else could he do? He should have protected Tatara from the gunman; he should have turned him to ash before he had the chance to squeeze the trigger. Mikoto would have battled Death himself single-handedly if it would have kept Tatara safe, but the one time it mattered, he hadn’t been there to protect him. And now all the power of a King couldn’t protect him from this- a simple infection.

Tatara seemed to read his mind. “None of this is your fault. The doctor said they caught it early. I’ll be okay, I promise.”

“I'll kill whoever did this to you.”

"Mikoto... I won’t have you putting yourself in danger for the sake of revenge. What’s done is done; I’m going to make a full recovery. I want to just get on with our lives." It was clear that he was trying to be imperative- it was rare he ever addressed Mikoto by his first name- but in his weakened state he had little in the way of persuasive power.

"I won't be in danger."

"But your Weissman level..."

"Not you too."

"The last Blue King had to be killed because his got too high and he almost caused a Damocles Down. The last Red King _did_ cause a Damocles Down. King, I know that's what you're most afraid of."

Mikoto flinched; he was unused to these things being spoken about so candidly.

"Please, your powers are meant to protect, not to destroy."

"I couldn't protect you." His voice was low.

"Hey..." Tatara raised Mikoto’s hand to his lips, his arm trembling with the effort, and kissed his fingers. "It's okay, I'm alive. You can't be expected to follow me around at all hours in case I get myself into trouble like I always do."

Mikoto stared at the ground again; the self-hatred that burned in his blood at the sight of Tatara in this state was too much to bear.

"King."

Reluctantly, Mikoto lifted his head to meet his eyes.

"I love you."

And just like that, the burning stopped. 


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter can also be found on [Tumblr](http://mikototsu-trash.tumblr.com/post/139868960838/breathing-part-3)
> 
>  
> 
> _Redrafted 05/07/17_

Mikoto blasted through the wall, and it crumbled like sand before the immense force of his power. The anger, the frustration, the fear that had built up inside his body burned white hot within his veins. The pain had been almost unbearable, but now finally, he could let it out, and demolish everything before him with the blistering heat. The sensation was addictive. It was so tempting to keep on incinerating everything in his path; it stopped the agony of keeping those flames imprisoned within his body. The sweet cessation of that constant, smouldering pain was like a high; and he almost wanted to let it kill him, if only to keep the pain away a little longer. It felt so good to unleash it, to destroy, destroy, destroy.

“It’s those Blues!” Misaki called from behind him, bringing Mikoto back to reality with a jolt.

“Sceptre 4 has entered the building. What should we do, Mikoto?” Izumo’s voice was casual.

Mikoto paused and breathed in the smell of smoke. “Burn them.”

He felt the air crackle with his clansmen’s power as their war cry rang off the walls. In an almost leonine manner, he dropped from the balcony and landed on his toes, then rose to stand tall, his aura engulfing his body in beautiful, lethal crimson. Mikoto filled the room with flames; they flowed out of him and crashed against the walls in a vicious torrent; he hadn’t quite had enough of the high of letting loose. After this mission had turned out to be a dead end, it felt good to get out his frustration.

Finally, he reluctantly reigned in his aura and waited for the Blues’ reaction, though he didn’t doubt it would be the same bureaucratic nonsense as always. He almost laughed watching them respond by drawing their swords in that ostentatious display of order. His own clansmen simply dropped to stand behind him; they didn’t need a sickening ceremony to intimidate.

As the clans faced off, the two Kings eyed each other up. Then, with a sound like an explosion, Mikoto’s aura erupted out of his body once more and collided with the Blue King’s. Coloured light whirled through the air in a furious tempest, until the power filling the room reached the point that it began to take the solid form of their Swords of Damocles, materialising high above their heads. For a drawn-out moment they stood like that, staring each other down as they brandished their power, until finally Reisi put up his hand.

“I’ll handle this,” he told his clansmen, then sheathed his sword and approached the Red King. The pair paused to size each other up before Reisi spoke again.  
“In compliance with Protocol 120, I am taking you into custody. Any objections?”

Mikoto grunted a laugh, tilting his head back slightly. “Unfortunately so.” The red aura engulfed his body once more, and he subtly adjusted his stance, ready for Reisi to attack. The heat of the hissing flames could be felt across the room.

“Suoh, your Weissman level is pushing its limit. If your Sword of Damocles should fall, we’ll have a repeat of the Kagutsu Crater incident. If you insist on drawing more power from the Dresden Slates, I’ll have to kill you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Reisi took another step closer to Mikoto, his hand upon the hilt of his sword.“I’m telling you to renounce your throne.”

Mikoto laughed again. “You’re still a stick in the mud, aren’t you, Munakata?”

Reisi pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, tilting his head down and peering over the frames in exasperation. “If that’s how you’re going to play, I’ll have to come up with a way to lock you up for life.”

There was a pause. “I’ll renounce the throne.”

A brief flicker of shock crossed Reisi’s face before he managed to smooth his expression, and yells of angry surprise rose from the Red clan.

“I’ll renounce the throne _when_ Totsuka pulls through, and the man who shot him is dead.”

“We cannot stand by and allow you to commit a murder. You cannot be judge, jury and executioner.”

“Then you’d better find the attacker first.” Mikoto stepped past Reisi, shoving him out of his way with his shoulder, and his clansmen followed close behind him, shooting dark glances at the Blue King as they passed. Instinctively, Scepter 4 moved to block their path, their swords creating a barricade between Homra and the doorway, and the Red clan slowed to a stop, their auras bristling around them. Misaki raised his bat, ready to swing at the nearest Blue clansman, when Reisi called from behind:

“Let them pass.”

Scepter 4 hesitantly made way for the Red Clan, watching them leave in confusion.

As they walked away, Seri approached her King and asked under her breath: “Captain, why did you let them go?”

“With our resources, we should be able to locate the assailant first and administer the death penalty ourselves. The perpetrator referred to himself as the Colourless King, and even if his crimes would not normally call for such a radical sentence, he’s clearly quite dangerous, and poses a risk to the public. Not to mention that this kind of aggression from a King could spark a clan war, and needless to say, Suoh’s Sword of Damocles will not survive such a conflict. It’s better that one guilty man dies than there be a repeat of the Kagutsu Crater incident. I believe Suoh is a man of his word; if Totsuka Tatara survives, he will abdicate the throne. Preventing him from visiting his clansman in hospital would only provoke him. Especially if the boy does not survive.” Munakata pushed up his glasses and smiled. “Would you like to be the one standing between them? Because I wouldn’t.”


	4. Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter can also be found on [Tumblr](http://mikototsu-trash.tumblr.com/post/140095100488/breathing-part-4)
> 
> _Redrafted 05/07/17_

“King!” Tatara sat up too quickly at the sight of Mikoto entering the room and winced at the shock of pain through his ribcage. He looked stronger today than he had when he first contracted the infection a few days ago, but his skin was still ashen and drawn tightly over his bones. 

“Careful.” Mikoto chided, his voice gentler than normal. He took up his usual vigil in the seat beside Tatara’s bed, as he always did the minute visiting hours began. Behind him followed Anna and Izumo; the former perched on the edge of his mattress and Tatara reached up to straighten a bow on her dress. His movements were still noticeably laboured.

“You look lovely today,” he said with a tired grin, earning a weak smile in return from the girl. “But why are you covered in dust? You all are.” He pointed out, glancing up at Izumo and Mikoto. Mikoto grunted noncommittally, and Anna looked down, almost bashfully.

It was Izumo who confessed first. “We thought we’d found the company your attacker worked for, so we paid them a visit. Turns out it wasn’t the right guy.”

“Paid them a visit...? You weren’t beating up innocent people, were you?” Tatara’s scolding tone was vastly unintimidating, but it left the room in admonished silence. “I told you I didn’t want you pursing my attacker for revenge, it won’t change anything. There’s no need to put yourselves at unnecessary risk for my sake.”

“What if he comes back to finish the job?” Mikoto’s voice was dark.

“Well… it just seemed like a random attack; I don’t think he was targeting me specifically…” The conviction had vanished from his tone at the ferocity of his partner’s protectiveness. The terror that Tatara’s brush with death had caused him was becoming increasingly evident with each passing day, in the strain in his eyes and the darkening shadows beneath them.

“It seems to me more like a deliberate attack against Homra, with you being seen as an easy target. And if you were just a random victim, the guy’s probably a psycho; who’s to say he won’t put some other innocent person in the hospital, or worse?” Izumo interjected, and Tatara’s head dropped, unsure of how to respond. The shameless appeal to his selfless nature won him over, and he sighed in defeat.

“Okay… Just please don’t kill anyone. And don’t risk your own safety,” he insisted, and Izumo nodded, though before he could promise anything, his phone rang.

“What is it?” Tatara asked when Izumo hung up.

“Shouhei’s found the attacker,” he explained over his shoulder as he hurried from the room.

“Be careful!” Tatara called after him, then leaned back on his bed and sighed, glancing up towards Mikoto. “Aren’t you going with him?”

“No.”

Tatara nodded, then returned his attention to Anna, chattering to her idly in an attempt to take their minds off his situation. Meanwhile, Mikoto rested his hand quietly on the mattress beside Tatara. His fingers were curled tightly into a trembling fist, and the tendons in his hand and arm were taut beneath his skin. Gently, Tatara laid his own palm over Mikoto’s, until it had relaxed enough for him to link heir fingers. At the forgiving touch, the shaking of Mikoto’s hands slowed, then eventually ceased. Tatara heard him take a deep breath, as if his lungs had been constricted since visiting hours had ended the night before, and only now could they expand again. The strain of their separation etched itself deeper onto Mikoto’s body with every passing day; Tatara longed to escape the faceless ward and return to the apartment above the bar, trade in the cloying scent of antiseptic for that of cigarette smoke and the King’s skin. Missing his partner, even if it was only overnight, was taking its toll on Tatara, and he could only imagine how much worse it was for Mikoto, having to deal with his nightmares alone and having to worry about the wellbeing of his lover, powerless to do anything to help him.

After a short while, Anna excused herself to get a drink.  Tatara looked up at Mikoto in concern as soon as she was out of the room.

“Are you sure you’re holding up okay?”

“Am now.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

Mikoto leaned down and stole a brief kiss. “Just get better.”

Tatara nodded and reached up to cup the back of Mikoto’s neck, pulling his head down to kiss him again, slower this time. They broke the kiss after a moment and Tatara pressed his forehead to Mikoto’s and held him there until they were interrupted by a phone call from Izumo. Mikoto put him on speaker.

“We hit a little bit of a snag,” Izumo explained.  

“What happened?” Mikoto asked.

“The Black Dog, Yatogami Kuroh, intervened and helped the attacker give us the slip. Gave Yata quite the beating, too. He’s alright though. The guy was a vassal of the old Colourless King; seems he’s in cahoots with the new one. Anyway, we’re implementing Plan B.”

“What’s Plan...?” Before Tatara could finish, the television opposite his bed flickered on by itself. Rows of static wavered briefly, before a grainy video of a humming young man with white hair began to play. When Tatara heard his own voice, he glanced in alarm towards Mikoto, then back to the screen, a look of terrible realisation in his eyes. At the sound of the gunshot, he jumped violently, his gaze transfixed on the film. He didn’t see Mikoto wincing.

“Turn it off.” A tear dripped his chin as he watched his own body fall, limp. Mikoto made a grab for the remote, but the screen wouldn’t turn off. By the time the white haired man picked up the camera, Tatara could remember the incident vividly, and the sight of his attacker’s face sent cold terror trickling through his veins. The Colourless King just about had time to announce his title before the screen went blank and a puff of smoke rose from behind the television; Mikoto had fried the circuits.

The room was quiet for a moment, then a quiet sob bubbled from Tatara’s throat. He reached for Mikoto and grasped at his shirt, and Mikoto let his partner pull him onto the bed. He drew Tatara carefully into his arms, cradling him and stroking his hair as sobs wracked his thin frame and his tears soaked through the fabric of Mikoto’s shirt.

“I couldn’t remember w-what happened before, b-but now…” Tatara tried to explain, but the words hitched with his ragged breathing.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Mikoto murmured. “You’re safe.” He repeated those words softly in Tatara’s ear until his breathing evened out and the flood of tears slowed, then gently brushed the tears off Tatara’s cheeks with his thumb. Mikoto couldn’t remember the last time he had seen him this afraid; the boy was usually so unrelentingly optimistic. He’d seen him upset and angry before, but never scared. No matter the circumstances, nothing could dim the brightness that poured from his smile for long, until now.

“You’ll get him, won’t you?” Tatara’s voice was weak. He had never asked anything like this of Mikoto before; how fearful must he have been to do it now?

The intensity of the rage that Mikoto felt at hearing the fear in Tatara’s voice terrified him. He had never been so close to losing control; it was only the warmth of his lover’s body in his arms that kept the beast, that was clawing more viciously than ever at his ribs, caged inside his chest. Mikoto didn’t know if he would be able to keep it in check when visiting hours ended and he had to leave Tatara, but he could worry about that later. Right now, he just wanted him to feel safe.

He kissed him on the forehead, then whispered: “I’ll get him, I promise.”


	5. Part 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter can also be found on [Tumblr](http://mikototsu-trash.tumblr.com/post/140350968193/breathing-part-5)
> 
> _Redrafted 05/07/17_

“I didn’t expect to get a call from you, Suoh.” Reisi didn’t look up from the jigsaw puzzle on his desk as Mikoto entered his office, his hands in his pockets and a cigarette hanging from his lips.

Mikoto gave a short, humourless chuckle in response.

“What is it you want?” Reisi asked.

“About that offer of custody…”

Reisi finally glanced up over the frames of his glasses. “Ah, you want to take me up on that after all?”

“Something like that.” Mikoto lifted his cigarette away from his lips and watched the ribbons of smoke coil upwards as he breathed out to avoid meeting Reisi’s eyes.

“Why the sudden change of heart?”

“You’re not my therapist. I’m not going to spill my guts to you.”

“I’m simply curious as to why you’d want to spend time around me when my presence so thoroughly sickens you.”

Mikoto drew in another lungful of smoke. “Figured it’d be a good idea to have someone around who could stop me if I lost my shit and…” He lifted the cigarette butt from his mouth, letting it dangle from his fingers for a moment like a sword from a thread, then dropped it. He let it fall almost to the ground before incinerating it a few inches above the rug, leaving only a handful of scarlet embers floating down.

“So you’ve finally accepted that you’re in danger of a Damocles Down, hmm? I never thought I’d see the day you could be reasonable, Suoh. I trust this was not your idea?”

“No, it was. And I accepted it a long time ago, I just didn’t care.”

“Huh...” Reisi raised his eyebrow in surprise, trying to read the look on Mikoto’s face. “I thought it would be that vassal of yours’ idea; he seems to be the only person who can make you see reason. I’ve never seen you change your mind before.” There was a gloating look in his eyes as he spoke.

“I just think it would be kind of shit if Totsuka survived, only for me to die.”

“Well, I suppose you’re right.” Reisi opened the drawer of his desk and took out a pair of handcuffs.

“I have a few conditions,” Mikoto interrupted.

Reisi set down the handcuffs on his desk. “There it is.”

“I get released when the Colourless King is caught.”

“When the Colourless King is caught and you’ve abdicated the throne.”

“Fine.”

“Anything else?”

“I’m allowed to visit the hospital every day. I don’t care if you want to escort me personally at sword point or whatever. If you don’t let me go with permission, I’ll go without it.” There was an odd quality to Mikoto’s voice; it sounded almost like shame.

“…You haven’t told him, have you?”

“Who?”

“Totsuka-san. You haven’t told him you’re turning yourself in.”

“He has enough to worry about.”

“Have you told him you plan to abdicate the throne?”

“He has enough to worry about.”

“Have you told him anything?”

“You’re not my marriage councillor, either.”

“I don’t remember you two getting married.”

“You weren’t invited.”

Both Kings smiled at the joke.

“He’s really that important to you?” Reisi folded his hands on the desk before him, as if he was asking about a business arrangement.

“What do you want me to do, recite a love poem?”

Reisi chuckled softly. “I will permit you to visit Totsuka Tatara in hospital while you’re in custody.”

Mikoto offered his wrists, and Reisi got up from his desk, picked up the handcuffs, and bound his friend’s hands.

Mikoto smirked half-heartedly. “Take good care of me.”


	6. Part 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible self harm mention trigger warning in this chapter!
> 
> This chapter can also be found on [Tumblr](http://mikototsu-trash.tumblr.com/post/140656222963/breathing-part-6)
> 
>  
> 
> _Redrafted 06/07/17_

Mikoto was late. He was usually in Tatara’s room the moment visiting hours began, but had been almost 40 minutes since then and Mikoto hadn’t arrived. It was only Tatara’s determination to stick to his reputation as someone who wasn’t a worrier that kept him from calling Izumo and asking if everything was okay. He was somewhat ashamed that, even though he was far from a worst case scenario sort of person, he still found he was having to talk himself down. If Mikoto had had a Damocles Down, it’s not like he wouldn’t have _noticed_ an explosion comparable to a nuclear weapon going off down the street.

But reason had no effect on the nagging voice that wondered, if Mikoto had lost control since his last visit, he wouldn’t know if the same thing had happened to him as happened to Habari Jin. But surely, someone would have told him? Would anyone in Homra even have the strength to do what Zenjou Gouki had done though, if that was the choice? Their King, or a million innocent people? Tatara tried to divert from that train of thought; he knew what his choice would be, and the reality of his weakness made him uncomfortable. Rightfully so.

 _Forty minutes, I’m already straying down that route, huh?_ Tatara shook his head; the last thing he needed was one of those days when the weight of all the things he dismissed with a “don’t sweat it” began to show their marks.

The door opened, snapping Tatara out of his morbid train of thought, and he breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of his partner. But Mikoto looked more dishevelled than usual; his clothes had clearly been slept in, and his eyes were bloodshot.

“King, you really ought to take better care of yourself. I don’t want to have to be texting you every hour reminding you to shower and eat and change your clothes. Not that you’d answer your phone anyway.”

Mikoto grunted noncommittally and took his seat beside Tatara.

“Are you okay?”

“You don’t need to worry about me.”

Tatara was usually adept at reading Mikoto, but there was something in his tone that he couldn’t quite place. Mikoto wasn’t one to keep secrets from him; it was impossible, so he didn’t try. Tatara would simply read them off his skin as if the crease between his eyebrows and the tension in his hands were words on a page.

“King…” Tatara extended his arm slowly, and Mikoto raised his palm. Tatara tapped his loose fist against Mikoto’s hand, and Mikoto’s fingers closed gently around it. “What’s that…?” Tatara nodded at Mikoto’s wrist, where the skin was dark pink and raw, almost like a burn.

“It’s nothing to worry about.”

“King,” Tatara protested.

“Just concentrate on getting better.”

“Of course I’m going to worry when you don’t warn me that you’re going to be late, and then when you do show up, you’re hurt.”

“Sorry.”

“King… you didn’t do that on purpose, did you?” Tatara nodded to the wounds again.

“No.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Tatara unfolded his fist and slid his fingers between Mikoto’s, pulling his arm towards him to gently press his lips to Mikoto’s wrist. “I love you, King.”

Mikoto cupped Tatara’s jaw and kissed him briefly, and Tatara smiled; the anxiety that had twisted knots in his stomach uncoiled at the brush of Mikoto’s lips. Tatara leaned his head against Mikoto’s arm, and they sat like that for a moment, until a flash of royal blue fabric and dark hair passing the door caught Tatara’s attention.

“Is that… Fushimi? He came to see me?” It struck Tatara as odd that the ex-Homra member would visit him; he and Saruhiko had never clicked (though he supposed Saruhiko never clicked with anyone in the Red clan), and why would he risk running into Misaki here?

“No. Munakata.”

“What’s he doing here?”

Mikoto wasn’t sure what to say to that, but there was a knock at the door before he could answer, and Reisi came into the room.

“Ask him yourself.” Mikoto leaned back in his seat, catching Tatara’s hand in his own.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Tatara’s cheeks reddened faintly as Mikoto gripped his hand; he wasn’t usually the type to be so candid about displaying affection around others, especially not around people who weren’t members of Homra. Tatara wasn’t even sure that Reisi was aware of the full extent of their relationship; he knew that Mikoto and Reisi were friends, if in an odd way, but he didn’t suppose they sat around gossiping about their significant others.

Reisi merely pushed his glasses up his nose, taking no notice of Mikoto’s possessiveness. “I had hoped to ask you a few questions about your attack, any information you can give us will be helpful in finding your assailant,” he replied.

“I’m afraid I won’t be of much help… Most of what I remember was in the video.”

“Is there anything that you remember after that?”

“He started humming again and walked away. I had my eyes closed because I was pretending to be dead, so I didn’t see what happened after that.” Tatara’s grip on Mikoto’s hand tightened.

“Nothing else?”

“That’s enough.” Mikoto interrupted.

“No, it’s okay King. Can you give us a minute?”

Mikoto raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t need to hear any more of the nitty gritty than necessary.” As Mikoto opened his mouth to protest, Tatara interrupted: “Please?”

“…Alright.”

Tatara leaned up towards him as Mikoto stood, and Mikoto gave him a brief kiss before walking out of the room.

Reisi cleared his throat.

“So why are you really here? Surely you’d know I don’t remember anything that wasn’t in the video.”

“You aren’t wrong; I’m here to talk to you about Suoh.”  

“I supposed as much.”

“I’m sure you’re aware of the state of his Weissman level.”

“I’ve never really been up on all that Weissman stuff, but yes, I’ve got the gist.”

“He’s too dependent upon you.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think you quite understand the gravity of it, though. You are far too reckless with your own life, and you fail to understand that if you get yourself killed, which you will do one day the way things are going, there’s going to be another Kagutsu Crater incident.”

Tatara looked down sheepishly. “I _am_ going to die, you’re right. It was predicted a few years ago by a clairvoyant strain that if I stayed by his side, I wouldn’t live very long.”

“What...?”

“But it would be worse if I left him. Maybe I’m just weak, but you’ve seen his reaction to the shooting. If I died, he would stop at nothing to avenge me, and that would give you enough time to make arrangements…”

“To kill him.”

Tatara flinched and looked down. “To make sure he didn't end up like the last Red King. But if I just left him, wondering what he’d done to push me away, wondering why I stopped loving him… You’re a King, you know what it’s like don’t you? To feel alone, even though you’re surrounded by people?”

Reisi narrowed his eyes somewhat. Tatara’s ability to pick up on things that hovered unspoken in the air was unnerving.

“That’s just the impression that I got from you and my King.  But anyway, my point is, you have that loneliness in common with him, but your power is inherently one that brings order, while his is a monster, and even though he has great potential to protect, he has equal potential for destruction and it scares him. He hates himself for it. Imagine how much worse that would be if the only person who ever got him to open up to them abandoned him. He wouldn’t survive the night; he’d just burn himself up from the inside out. So you can’t really call me reckless for staying with him.”

“You’re still reckless for not taking better care of yourself. Just because you’re going to die doesn’t mean it has to be soon.”

Tatara couldn’t argue with that.

“I trust Suoh doesn’t know about this prediction.”

“No. And I’d appreciate if you kept it quiet; the only other person aside from us who knows is Anna. Knowing it was coming would be the worst thing for King.”

“I can’t say I approve of all of this.”

“Is there any other way?”

“…No, I suppose not.”

“Do you know what’s wrong with him? He’s a lot worse today.”

Reisi folded his arms across his chest, adjusting his glasses as he lied: “No.”

“Please don’t let him get himself killed. I know it’s a lot to ask but there isn’t much I can do for him in here.”

“Suoh doesn’t want to die. He’s doing everything he can to avoid it.”

“I know, but it’s not always up to him. The Red aura is completely the opposite of yours. You control yours, and his controls him. Or at least, it should, but he’s strong, but a person can’t be strong all of the time, especially at a time like this.”

Reisi sighed. “I am keeping a close eye on him, but you still need to be more cautious.”

“I will. Thank you.”

Reisi looked as though he was about to say something else when Mikoto opened the door and interrupted him. He reassumed his seat beside Tatara, the smell of cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes.

“That’s everything for now. Thank you for your cooperation.” Reisi turned away before he had to watch the pair kiss again. Although he couldn’t like Tatara for his recklessness, Mikoto was his friend, and he was glad at least to see him with someone who could balance him enough to dull the pain of his heavy crown. And now he knew they were condemned.


	7. Part 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter can also be found on [Tumblr](http://mikototsu-trash.tumblr.com/post/140946528838/breathing-part-7)
> 
>  
> 
> _Redrafted 06/07/17_

“Do you know much about the investigation and stuff going on back at Homra? I feel so out of the loop, stuck in here. Nobody else will tell me what’s going on; Kusanagi just shrugs and changes the subject, and King said he doesn’t want me to worry about it.” Tatara was sitting up in his bed, propped against a heap of pillows. He was feeling stronger by now; the colour had returned to his cheeks, and his infection was almost completely cleared up. If things continued the way they were going, he’d been told he would be allowed to return home in about a week or so. Anna sat beside him on the bed, her feet tucked up beneath herself as he braided her hair.

“Most of it hasn’t been happening at Homra.” Anna replied. “The Blues have been investigating the man who shot you.”

“Do you know how close they are to finding him?”

“They thought he was on the school island, and so did I, but they didn’t find him, neither did Misaki and Rikio when they snuck off to investigate. Then when the Blue King almost caught him at the stadium, the clansman and strain travelling with him helped him escape. Now they think the Silver King on the airship might be involved, but there was a helicopter crash, and the airship exploded.”

“How did you find all of this out?”

“The Blue lady came over last night and was talking with Izumo about it. I was in the kitchen and they didn’t seem to know I was there, so I listened.”

“My my, aren’t you sneaky when you want to be?”

Anna smiled weakly.

“What about Homra’s investigation?”

“Some of our clansmen went to investigate the missing gun dealer, but the Blues showed up and we didn’t get much from it. We had some leads from… the video… but none of them went anywhere. We’re just waiting for new information.”

“Just waiting? I thought King would be being more proactive than that; is he okay?” He paused and frowned. “I’m sorry to drag you into the middle of all this, but he seems stressed, but he won’t talk to me about it.”

“I’m not supposed to tell you…”

“Why not?”

“Mikoto doesn’t want to upset you. He said you’ll get better faster if you’re not worrying about everyone else.”

“Knowing what’s going on won’t make me heal any slower. Why would I be upset?”

“He agreed to abdicate the throne.”

“What? Why would he do that?”

“The Blue King was talking to him about his Weissman level and the Kagutsu Crater Incident, the day we went to that firm.”

“Well… I suppose it could be a good idea…” He sounded reluctant. “If it means he won’t…” Tatara couldn’t make himself say the word. “If it means the same thing won’t happen to him as happened to Habari Jin or Kagutsu Genji…” He wasn’t sure about how to feel about that. Would things be different, if King wasn’t a King anymore?

Anna nodded. “There was another thing…”

“What?”

“Mikoto let Munakata take him into custody.”

Tatara frowned. “When?”

“The night the video was broadcast. He didn’t come back to Homra with us.”

Tatara chewed his lip in concern. “I don’t suppose he told anyone why, did he?” Not that he needed to ask; Tatara already knew that the King wouldn’t humiliate himself like that unless there was no other option besides losing control.

“No, he didn’t.”

Tatara sighed, and started unweaving the plait he had fastened her hair into. “I guess that’s why he hasn’t been arriving as soon as visiting hours started like he did when I first got here… What about you, are you okay?” He supposed it must have been tough for her; Mikoto and Tatara were like her fathers, and having both of them absent couldn’t have been easy.

Anna looked down at the marble that she had been fiddling with idly. A thin crack blemished its surface. “I can’t pinpoint the attacker…” 

“Hey, it’s alright. There’s no pressure. You said he had a strain and a clansman with him, right? Could it be them interfering with your powers?”

Anna nodded again. “I suppose.”

“I hope you don’t feel like you’re in any way responsible for any of this. It’s not your job to predict every possibility.”

She looked down at her skirt, and Tatara kissed the top of her head.

“I had been meaning to ask actually… about what you said a few years ago. You predicted that if I stayed by King’s side, I wouldn’t live very long.” He looked abashed as he spoke; the conversation with Reisi had brought all this back to the forefront of his mind, and he was much happier having buried it. “I was wondering if what you predicted… still stands. Maybe I’m being overly optimistic, but it feels like the night I was shot was when I was supposed to die, and maybe because I lived it means that it’s not going to happen after all. I’m really sorry for asking this, and if you don’t want to talk about it I’ll shut up.” 

“It’s okay.”

“I’m just worried about King. You’ve seen how he is.”

She paused and looked thoughtful for a moment, and Tatara’s stomach dropped.

“It’s not clear,” she finally said.

Tatara nodded slowly, not pushing her for more detail.

It was a few seconds before Anna spoke again; there was a small crease between her eyebrows as she seemed to struggle to find the words to express herself. “I feel like… we’re at a crossroads, and lots of different things could happen. If Mikoto abdicates the throne, then maybe the future will change.”

“I understand. Thank you, Anna.” Tatara kissed Anna on the top of the head and she lay down beside him, tucking her small body against his. Her face was blank, but he had known her long enough now to be able to tell when something was bothering her, even if she didn’t express it. She was like Mikoto in that way- she bore her burdens alone. And she had so many, for someone so young.

Tatara regretted asking about the prediction. The uncertainty was somehow worse than knowing that he was going to die. He had never allowed himself to hope for a future with Mikoto, even if he had wanted one more than anything. He wanted to marry him, move out of the apartment above Homra and into their own house, travel with him, raise Anna like the daughter she had become to them and watch her become a young woman, maybe even adopt another baby with him one day. He wanted to get old with Mikoto, be crotchety old men together, spend every day of a long life by his side. And he had gotten used to the idea that he would never have that, they would never have enough time. Having that one thread of hope that maybe it would all be possible after all seemed almost cruel. Of course, he didn’t blame Anna for that. But he had come to accept that the time he had with Mikoto was being ticked away. And now maybe it wasn’t, but that hope would only make it so much worse if he did end up getting himself killed.

As he had lay on that rooftop bleeding, watching his field of view going dark, he hadn’t mourned the could-have-beens. He had been upset, of course. Infinitely upset that he would never see Mikoto again, that his death would destroy him. He had been upset that he was going to miss Anna’s birthday, upset for the rage and grief that would inevitably plague the rest of the clan. But, at least, he had not been disappointed. He had always been able to say things would turn out alright, because this was what alright meant to him. Resignation. And now he had lost that one small comfort.


	8. Part 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter can also be found on [Tumblr](http://mikototsu-trash.tumblr.com/post/141214412723/breathing-part-8)
> 
> _Redrafted 06/07/17_

Anyone looking at Mikoto might have described him as serene, sitting in that relaxed pose with his eyes closed and the pale morning light pouring through the barred window of the cell onto his back. In reality, he had simply gotten very good at keeping up an indifferent front, especially now that he was no longer an immediate danger to the people closest to him. It was only the slight crease between his eyebrows that betrayed his troubled daydreams.

A noise woke him from his trance- the rattle of something plastic falling onto the concrete, and the high-pitched tinkling noise of a phone ringing. After a moment, Mikoto opened his eyes. There was a rotary phone sitting on the ground beside the door. The receiver shook with its tinny ring a few more times, then rose slowly off the floor.

“Hello? Hello there!” The sing-song voice sounded vaguely familiar, in a way that made Mikoto feel suddenly very cold. “Have a minute? Eh, who am I, you’re wondering? I’m the man you’re looking for.”

Mikoto twitched, and a low grunt rose from his throat, almost a growl.

“It’s about your man… Totsuka-kun, is it? I’m the guy who shot him!” The voice seemed to take an almost childlike pleasure in its announcement. From the receiver issued a ribbon of white smoke, which thickened into the form of a grinning fox’s head. The spectral fox floated over to where Mikoto sat, his eyes closed, and circled him playfully.

“I kind of feel bad for him. He’s probably gonna die. Maybe I should finish him off? Put him out of his misery?”

Mikoto’s hand twitched.

“But he’ll be lonesome by himself in the other world.” The spirit split into two, then three. “So shall I also kill everyone from Kusanagi-kun to Yata-kun? Shall I? Huh?” it taunted. Its offshoots bore a resemblance to his clansmen; one wore glasses and a neckerchief, and the other a beanie hat.

Mikoto kept his eyes firmly closed, though his teeth were clenched so tightly shut that his jaw ached.

“Man, are you alive?” it asked impatiently. “Maybe next time I’ll have that young lady entertain me.” The spectres recombined into one, hovering impatiently in front of Mikoto’s face. “You know, the one you always bring with you? Anna-chan, was it? I’m sure she’ll be fun~. I like my women really young.”

Mikoto’s eyes snapped open involuntarily; he could taste bile in the back of his throat. His fists clenched so tightly that his nails cut into his skin.

“There, peekaboo!” The spirit rushed at him, and his body went numb as his ears filled with the sound of the creature’s perverse cackling.

“I got you! I have you now! You’re mine!” Its voice turned suddenly from playful to vicious, and in his mind’s eye Mikoto could see the creature baring its teeth, as if preparing to sink them into his flesh.

But it had underestimated what it would find once it got inside him; the constant burning that the Red King had become so accustomed to was far too furious for the phantom. It was easy enough for Mikoto to redirect that burning straight towards the foreign presence he could feel inside his mind; before it could take hold, its gaping jaw was filled by a jet of white-hot fire.

Mikoto smirked. “I see, so that’s your game.”

He felt the creature falter, then unleashed the fury of a King’s power upon it.  Every shred of the flames that stirred within him converged all at once onto the spectre, lunging at it like a beast on its prey. In the face of that raw, visceral power, it instantly turned and fled, scrambling to escape his body and put as much distance between them as possible. Mikoto was almost disappointed; he had so been looking forward to sinking his claws into that bastard, tearing it to shreds and burning the pieces.

Thankfully, his consciousness hadn’t quite disconnected from the spectre’s yet, and he watched it escape over the city and the glittering sea to return to a boy in a mask on Ashinaka Island. His aura followed it there, and latched on to the nearest thing it could burn: the wire of the telephone the boy held in his hand. With a rush of adrenaline, he filled the room with his fire, effortlessly blowing out the walls and reducing the room to ash and rubble.

Mikoto opened his eyes, and they shone crimson with the power that welled inside him. He laughed once, and got to his feet.

“I found you.”

The shackles on his wrists glowed red and crumbled off as he burned through the metal like paper. With a grin on his face, Mikoto blasted through the door of his cell, savouring the blessed release from the flames that had built up inside him. His aura swathed his body as he stepped through the smoke into the corridor, blowing through the puny lockdown doors that has snapped shut along its length with ease. A smirk played on his lips at the prospect of the sweet revenge that was now within his reach. 

* * *

 

Anna sat in the chair beside Tatara’s bed, watching her marbles spin lazily on the bedside table as she listened to Izumo, Misaki and Rikio make idle chatter with the patient, when suddenly, one of the little glass orbs flashed in the light and rose to hover a few inches above the countertop. It glowed red, and she murmured:

“Mikoto.”

The eyes of all four men in the room locked on her instantly.

“We have to go to him!” Misaki was the first to speak, already out of his seat.

“Anna, what’s happening?” Tatara asked.

“Mikoto knows where the shooter is. He’s breaking out.”

Izumo nodded. “I agree with Yata, we have to go to him.”

Tatara caught his wrist before he could get away. “Tell him I said to be careful, and don’t do anything stupid or dangerous. That goes for all of you. And keep me posted on what’s going on, Izumo. I’m serious, I want an update at least every half an hour. Even if it’s just a text to say you’re all okay.”

Izumo nodded. “Alright.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Tatara lowered his voice so that Rikio and Misaki, who were already out the door, wouldn’t hear him. “And Izumo? Please make sure he doesn’t have a Damocles Down.”

Izumo nodded, coolly hiding his surprise at the anxiety in Tatara’s voice, then reached out a hand for Anna. “I’ll bring him back.”

Tatara nodded, and kissed Anna on the forehead. She pressed a marble into his hand, and the pair walked out. The whispers of anxiety in Tatara’s head were suddenly much louder now that he was alone with his thoughts in the room that had grown much too quiet.


	9. Part 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter can also be found on [Tumblr](http://mikototsu-trash.tumblr.com/post/141563143593/breathing-part-9)
> 
> _Redrafted 06/07/17_

Mikoto strolled out into the courtyard of Sceptre 4’s headquarters with his hands in his pockets, leaving a trail of flames in his wake. 

“Third King, Suoh Mikoto. You are in the custody of Sceptre 4. You do not have permission to leave the premises. Stop.” Seri called out to him from where she stood beside a row of her fellow Blue clansmen, between the Red King and the gates. He kept walking, paying Seri no notice as she drew her sword. 

“I said stop!” She lashed out with her blade, sending a bolt of her aura spinning out from the metal towards Mikoto. It shattered off his own like glass; he barely seemed to notice. The Blue clansmen muttered to one another in shock, but stood their ground before him as the Red King prowled closer. He took a few more steps forward then stopped, and unleashed an immense blast of power that left a crater in the brickwork under his feet. The Blue clansmen seemed to be beginning to lose their nerve; the crimson glow in his eyes was almost feral, and his posture bore a striking similarity to that of a caged animal. It would have been foolish of them not to be afraid of the flames that licked from his flesh and the blazing heat that emanated from him, hot enough to burn the Blues’ skin even from across the courtyard. 

Mikoto raised his arms, extending them out beside himself like a martyr, then lifted them above his head and brought them down, releasing the full force of the rage burning in his blood. The frustration of being pent up inside, and everything that fox spirit had said about his clansmen, Tatara, _Anna…_ it fuelled the scarlet shockwave that exploded out of his body and tore through the cobbles. The heat seared even Mikoto’s skin, but the pain came with a wave of cathartic release. He almost smiled as he walked through the scattered line of Blue clansmen, through the rubble and thick coiling smoke, breathing in the smell of burning. 

His vassals waited outside the crumbled gates for him. 

“Yo, thanks for coming.” Izumo wore a faintly amused expression. The rest of his clan called out their greetings, and Anna ran over to him, gripping his hand tightly when she reached his side. Anger bubbled up once more in his gut; he knew that the Colourless King had only said what he had said to provoke him, but the mere thought of her being hurt to get to him… he felt sick. 

“Boss.” 

Mikoto looked up from the girl’s face to Izumo. 

“You finally found your target?” 

“He’s at the school on the island.” The corner of Mikoto’s lip twitched as he spoke, and he almost smirked. At last, the hunt was on, and he had been craving blood. “Let’s go.” 

His clansmen cheered, and Mikoto closed his hand protectively around Anna's and started walking. After a moment, he turned to Izumo, and asked him quietly underneath the chatter of the others: “How is he?” 

“You should call him and ask him yourself. He’ll want to speak to you.” 

Mikoto grunted reluctantly, but Izumo had already pressed his phone into his hand. 

"Call your damn boyfriend. He demanded I give him updates every half an hour and it's been 32 minutes; he might forgive me if you call him." 

Mikoto sighed and dialled Tatara's number, his mouth suddenly dry. He had known there was only so long that he could hide his incarceration from him, but he wasn't looking forward to being confronted about it. Besides, he hadn't decided what he planned to do yet. He was more than acutely aware that if he got what he wanted, if he got to have his revenge, it would probably kill him. But as he had said to Reisi, it would be kind of shit if Tatara survived being shot in the chest only for Mikoto to get himself killed. Still, the nagging voice in the back of his head that told him to give in to the flames that were constantly fighting to consume him, to stop the burning that had gotten so much worse over the past ten days, had gotten louder since the shooting. Every time he lost himself, it took him longer to come back. He was so tired, but without Tatara there, there was nothing to fend off the nightmares that plagued him. Besides, even if he wanted to control himself, when confronted with the grinning face from that grainy video, would he be able to? Even just the memory of his laugh, and the sound of that gunshot... 

His thoughts were interrupted when Tatara answered the phone, almost the second it had begun to ring. 

"Izumo, is everything okay?" 

"Totsuka." 

"King..." There was relief in Tatara's voice. "Are you okay? What's happening?" 

"I'm fine. Broke out of Sceptre 4. We're going to the school island." 

"Ashinaka? That's where he is?" 

Mikoto grunted in affirmation. 

“And you’re alright?” 

“Fine.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going into custody?” Tatara’s voice was quieter. 

“I didn’t want you to worry.” 

“I was more worried not knowing what was going on with you.” 

“Sorry.” 

“What about this whole abdicating the throne business?” 

“How did you know about that?” 

“King.” Tatara made an attempt at a stern tone. 

“I’ll abdicate when the shooter’s dead.” 

“And that’s what you want to do?” 

“Mm.” Mikoto confirmed. 

“Well, if you’re sure, then I’ll support whatever you decide, and you’ll always be my King no matter what you choose. I just wish you had told me sooner..." He sighed. "You can tell me things, King. Don’t feel like you’re shoving all your burdens onto me because you’re not; I don’t mind, really. I want to help; I’m here for you.” 

“Thanks.” 

“Just… please don’t die.” 

“I’ll do my best.” 

Mikoto heard Tatara’s breath hitch, and guilt twisted in his chest. He couldn’t promise anything more, and he would have hated to die breaking a promise. 

“Sorry…” Tatara’s voice wavered, and at the sound Mikoto wanted so badly to turn around and go straight to him. He didn’t know the first thing about comforting someone who was upset, but it seemed at least with Tatara, wrapping him up tightly in his arms and letting him sob into his shoulder seemed to help, and he could do that much. 

“Totsuka…” 

“H-huh?” 

“I love you.” It was the only thing Mikoto could think to say to comfort him. 

“I love you too. More than anything.” Tatara’s voice seemed steadier. 

“More than anything.” Mikoto agreed. He had made up his mind; the guilt he felt simply not being there for Tatara to hold him as he cried had _hurt._ The agony of having all of a King’s power pent up inside his body was merely a shadow beside the shame of leaving Tatara alone when Tatara had unfailingly been there for him whenever he had needed him. So the guilt of dying, leaving him alone… the mere thought of it was almost unbearable. 

So he said it: “I’m coming back. I promise.”


	10. Part 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter can also be found on [Tumblr](http://mistleto-3.tumblr.com/post/142071996984/breathing-part-10)
> 
> _Redrafted 06/07/17_

It wasn’t that Tatara didn’t trust Mikoto. It was just that… well it wasn’t necessarily up to Mikoto whether or not he could keep control of himself all the time, especially not when confronted with the man who had tried to murder one of the few people he had ever loved. And it wouldn’t help that Tatara wasn’t there to help him stay in control. He couldn’t just sit here and do nothing, leave it up to chance.

Tatara repeated these justifications to himself over in his head as he got out of bed and changed out of his pajamas into the clothes that Mikoto had brought with him from their (well, technically Mikoto's, but Tatara spent many more nights at Mikoto's than he did at his own place) apartment. When Tatara bent down to tie his shoelaces, he gave a loud hiss of pain; moving too quickly made the wound in his chest throb impertinently, though it wasn't too bad if he was careful. Once he was dressed, he opened the door a crack to peer out into the corridor and check there were no nurses around to scold him for being out of bed. He ascertained that it was safe, then headed as briskly as he could for the reception of the hospital and out of the front doors. He half-ran to the taxi rank, wincing at the pain in his ribs, but he had to move quickly. There was only one way onto the school island, and if Mikoto did what Tatara expected him to do (launch a reckless full-scale offensive) then it would surely be cordoned off, which meant Tatara had to get there first.

He hopped into the first taxi he saw, and implored the driver to step on it, then sat back against the seat and stared out of the window, taking deep breaths to try and calm the racing of his heart. It felt odd to be out of the hospital; he hadn’t even been in there two weeks, but for someone with as short an attention span as Tatara, being trapped between those white walls for any extended period of time, especially with everything going on outside, was almost torturous. Mikoto was constantly telling him that he didn’t want him to worry, but what else could he do? Every member of the Red clan was like a brother to Tatara, and all of them had felt the effects of his injury. They were restless and angry, and Tatara couldn’t blame them; he would feel the same if it was any of them in his place. The strain it was putting on all of them was clear in everyone’s faces, and Izumo seemed to be having the worst time of it. One of his best friends was lying in a hospital bed, and the other was in prison, while he had been left to keep things running in their absence. On top of everything else he usually had to do, he was now primarily responsible for Anna’s care, and he had to keep an eye on Mikoto, all while trying to keep a gang of revenge-hungry clansmen in check. Misaki and Rikio had already run off on their own once looking for the attacker. Of course, Izumo always kept a cool exterior and had been for the most part very successful at disguising his stress, but Tatara had a talent for seeing straight through people.

Misaki was the other one having a particularly rough time of it. Aside from Izumo, (and of course Mikoto and Anna, but he counted them more as family,) Misaki was Tatara’s closest friend. They had formed a strong bond, despite the stark differences in their personalities, especially since Tatara had been his main source of support for Misaki after Saruhiko had left Homra. Having Tatara almost die in his arms had been incredibly hard on him, and the increased frequency of the clashes between the Reds and Blues as they both investigated the attack meant that Misaki was coming into contact with Saruhiko a lot more often, and it was opening up old wounds. The pressure it was putting on him was showing; Misaki had always been a hot-blooded person, but by now he was almost volatile. Like everyone else in Homra, he was agitated, and thirsted for revenge.

And then of course there was Anna. Anna, who had known this was coming, who had probably sat in that waiting room while Tatara was in surgery expecting him not to come out again. In her short life, she had suffered more than anyone Tatara knew, and now she was separated from the two men who were the closest things to parents she had left, in constant fear that her prediction would come true. Anna wasn’t an expressive person, but now the frustration and fear she was experiencing were clearly tangible, at least for Tatara. He thumbed the marble that she had given to him absently. For her sake more than anyone’s, he hoped that this didn’t end badly.

He gazed at the little red orb as he thought, then out of curiosity, raised the marble to his eye and peered through it, imitating the way that Anna did. Reflected in the glass, he saw another eye, staring back at him, and by the dark burgundy colour of the iris, he instantly recognized it as Anna’s. The view through the marble blurred, then refocused, now showing the image of Mikoto walking behind the rest of the clan. He smiled; that girl really was sharp. She had worked out that the thing he would want the most while this was all going on was a way to check that Mikoto was okay, and that his clan was safe, and she had given him one. He dropped the marble into his palm and closed his fingers around it, whispering a thank you into his hand.

When he arrived at the bridge over to the island, it was deserted, and Mikoto’s sword hung in the air over the school. The sight of it still struck Tatara with a deep sense of awe; Mikoto’s power really was breath-taking. Still, he couldn’t help but be slightly dismayed that they had beaten him here; it would make this whole operation a lot more difficult. The taxi driver slowed to a stop, and gave Tatara a concerned look.

“Are you sure you really need to be here kid? It looks like something dangerous is going off.”

As he spoke, a burst of red flames exploded from the side of the island’s clock tower, and it began to tilt slowly, until it finally toppled, and a cloud of dust erupted from the ground around it.

The driver looked alarmed, and Tatara laughed sheepishly. “Don’t sweat it, I’ll be okay. I know the guy who’s doing all this; he’s a big softie, really. Total pussy cat. He won’t hurt me.” He took out his wallet and passed the driver a few notes. “Though, you probably should get out of here, just to be safe. And keep the change,” he insisted as he climbed out of the car. “Thank you!”

When he reached the gates to the school, they’d been blown open and the tiles were strewn with rubble. He hadn’t really expected anything different if he was honest. He kept close to the wall, moving slowly in the hope that, if there was anyone around, they wouldn’t notice him. He couldn’t let Mikoto know he was here; he had enough on his plate without having to worry about Tatara too. Tatara’s hypocrisy wasn’t unknown to him. He was aware that this was exactly what he had told Mikoto off for, keeping his mouth shut in favour of not worrying Tatara, but this was different. At least, that’s what he told himself. He wasn't trying to coddle Mikoto by hiding from him; he just wanted to make sure he was close by if Mikoto needed him. If there was ever a time when Mikoto needed to stay in control of himself, it was now, and Tatara didn't know if he would be able to do it alone. His Weissman level was nearing its limit, and somewhere on this island was the man who had shot his lover. The temptation to kill him, to annihilate him, to leave no trace of his existence, no blood, no bone, no ash, nothing but the scar on Tatara's ribs... Mikoto's self-control was lacking in the best of times, and right now? Tatara didn't think he would be able to stop himself. Not under these circumstances.

Not that Tatara blamed him; if it had been Mikoto who had been injured, Tatara didn’t think he’d be able to keep a cool head either. Even if he was supposed to be the optimistic one, the calm one, the one who was, for the most part, a pacifist… The idea of Mikoto lying in a hospital bed made him feel physically sick. He was far too weak to be able to square off against the Colourless King and come out of it on top, of course, but in a way so was Mikoto. He could easily defeat Tatara’s attacker, of course, but it would be a victory that cost him dearly. His life, at the very least.

That was why Tatara had to be there. He was the only person who could bring Mikoto back to himself when he lost control; he could hardly stay away at the time Mikoto would need him most. He resolved that he wouldn’t get himself into trouble; he would stay out of danger, and go to Mikoto only if he needed him, but he hadn’t really planned any further than that.

Beyond the splintered gates, Tatara spotted a figure pacing back and forth. By the baseball cap on his head and the metal bat he carried, it was easy enough to identify the man as one of his fellow clansmen. He pressed himself closer against the wall, looking around for another way through; a little further along he spotted a door and crept over to it. Of course, it was locked when he tried the handle. He sighed and looked around. The Red clansman had his back to him, facing into the school; evidently he was more interested in stopping anyone from escaping than stopping anyone getting in. Once he had ascertained that it was all clear, he took a deep breath, letting Mikoto’s power flow through his body, and focused his gaze on the door handle, concentrating his aura on the lock. His skin glowed faintly red, and he held his breath, gritting his teeth against the pain of his powers burning inside him, and kept his gaze steady on the door.

After a moment, there was a sharp popping sound, and a handful of sparks burst from the lock as the door swung open. Tatara stumbled slightly, feeling the strength leave his body as he let his aura die down. He ducked into the corridor and closed the door behind him, stopping to lean against the wall to catch his breath. His head spun, as though he had just stood up too quickly, and he squeezed his eyes shut in the hope that his vision would steady before him.

He opened them again to the sound of footsteps. A student approached Tatara slowly, a look of concern on his face, though he kept his distance, seeming suspicious. Of course he would; the school was filled with thugs, and Tatara was a stranger, not wearing the school uniform. "Are you alright there...?"

"Fine, fine..." Tatara cast an eye over his uniform, and an idea formed in his head. He held out his hand in front of him and red flames sparked around it. The student took a few steps back in surprise.

"I'm going to need your jacket, if it's not too much trouble." Tatara wasn't exactly skilled in intimidation, but the aura that flickered in his palm was enough to get the boy to shrug off his jacket without hesitation and toss it to Tatara.

"Thank you," he said with a smile, then thought for a moment. "Is there a way to get onto the roof of this building?"

"All of the fire escape staircases lead to the roof," the student explained hurriedly, his eyes wide with fear.

"Thanks, that's really helpful. You can go now, and if you see any of my friends make sure you do as they tell you; they won't hurt you if you cooperate," he advised with a smile, and the boy gave a quick nod and began backing away.

Tatara let the aura in his hand go out, and another wave of dizziness had him leaning against the wall again, his vision going dark at the edges.  He took a few deep breaths, waiting for his head to stop spinning, then picked up the jacket and shrugged it on. He was already wearing a white shirt and black trousers, so he hoped that the jacket would complete the look and he would blend in with the student body. Hopefully that way, none of his fellow Red clansmen would give him a second look. He examined his reflection in the window, adjusted the jacket, then set off in search of a staircase.


	11. Part 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter can also be found on [Tumblr](http://mistleto-3.tumblr.com/post/142714861049/breathing-part-11)
> 
> _Redrafted 15/07/17_

From the rooftop, it didn’t take Tatara long to spot the unmistakable figure of his partner, tall and lithe with his scarlet hair fanned out about his head like a halo. Mikoto was lying down atop a wall, his head resting on his hands, but Tatara knew better than to think he was sleeping; Mikoto didn’t sleep when he could avoid it. Tatara had taught him how to meditate while he was going through a phase of being particularly interested in yoga, and since then, though it often seemed like Mikoto was napping, Tatara could tell by the pattern of his breathing that he wasn’t asleep, he had simply lulled himself into a trance. When he was sleeping was when the nightmares came, and though Mikoto didn’t talk about them in any detail, Tatara had a pretty good idea what they were about. If Mikoto was awake but his mind was blank, it meant he could relax without worrying about the demons that prowled in his dreams.

Tatara wandered across the rooftop to get as close as he could to where Mikoto lay, and he sat down cross-legged, just out of view of him. He opened his shirt to check the bandages on his chest, and to his relief there was no blood visible on them; hopefully that meant he hadn’t done himself any physical damage. Still, he was exhausted. His wound was sore; the physical exertion of being up and about after having surgery on his lung and being on bedrest for so long had knocked the wind out of him; and using his powers for anything more than creating a few butterflies always left him feeling drained. Despite the cold, his forehead was beaded with sweat. The fresh air felt good against his skin, even if the winter sunlight had long since been blocked out by a thick layer of soft grey cloud, and he couldn’t help but begin to doze, his head drooping forward…

Mikoto stood in the centre of a courtyard in the school, his chest heaving as he breathed heavily from exertion. The cobbles in front of him had been scorched black, and atop the charred earth lay the corpse of a white-haired man. The Red aura crackled around his hands, which were beginning to rise from where they had hung at his sides, and after a long moment, they were outstretched either side of him, like a martyr. There was a troubled look on his face, and his brow was furrowed with regret. But he also seemed to be standing taller than usual. As if some great weight had been lifted from him, some crushing pain had finally been eased.

The crumbling Sword above his head juddered slightly in the air, and began to drop.

It picked up speed with every inch of the gap it closed between itself and the man beneath it. Tatara opened his mouth to scream, but the sound snagged in his throat.

_King…_

He wanted so badly to screw his eyes shut, to not have to watch Mikoto die, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away. The Sword fell torturously slowly and far too quickly at the same time, until the tip of its blade was mere feet above Mikoto’s head...

Tatara was roused by the sound of Izumo’s voice over the loudspeaker.

“Attention, team members. Attention, team members. The Blue dogs are paying us a visit. Teams near the gates, tighten up your guard.”

Tatara looked around, disoriented. His cheeks were damp with tears as he turned his head frantically towards where Mikoto had been laying earlier. He let out a sob of relief at the sight of him, still motionless on the wall just as he had been. How Mikoto dealt with this almost every night, Tatara didn’t know.

He got carefully to his feet and peered onto the bridge, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand as he did so, and surely enough it was blockaded by a cluster of heavily armoured vans. Between them were scattered dozens of Blue clansmen, made to look like toy soldiers by the distance. He watched them idly, trying to keep his mind off the nightmare, until a fleck of something cold landed on his nose.

“It’s snowing,” he observed quietly to himself as he looked up, watching his breath mist into a thin ribbon of white fog, then waft away. Tiny snowflakes kissed his bare skin and melted, and soon the snowfall thickened from a few shimmering flakes to a light flurry, but he didn’t feel the cold; the heat of Mikoto’s powers within him kept him warm. Watching the snowfall soothed him somewhat; in an odd way, knowing the same snow was falling on Mikoto made him feel closer to him. Still, the sour taste of the nightmare lingered in the back of his throat, and he couldn’t quite shake it.

His phone ringing caught his attention; the number was Izumo’s. He answered it as casually as he could, cupping the receiver with his hand to try and muffle any sounds that might give away that he was no longer at the hospital.

“Totsuka-san, how are you holding up?”

“I’m fine. It started snowing, and it’s relaxing to watch it from the window,” he commented, doing his best to sound cheerful.

“Ah, good. It’s snowing here too.”

“How is King?”

“He’s fine. Napping, actually. The rest of the clan are fine too. Anna’s here with me, but she can’t quite locate the target. We know he’s on the island somewhere, but it’s difficult to pinpoint exactly where. Plus, we’ve got company.”

“Company?”

“The Blues are paying us a visit.”

“Ah, I see. Well, perhaps having them there will help things,” Tatara suggested. “The Blue King might help our King stay in control, and it means the attacker can’t escape the island. I’m sure it’ll all work out.”

“Always the optimistic one, aren’t you?”

Tatara only half-heard what he was saying; the sound of skateboard wheels on concrete caught his attention, and he explained hurriedly to Izumo: “Ah, I have to go now; a nurse is here to check on me. Speak to you later. Oh, and if you see King… tell him I love him, okay?”

“Alright. See ya.” The line went dead just as the redheaded figure came into view from behind a fire escape, following the sound of his voice.

“Oi, what the hell are you doing up here? Think ya can hide from Homra do you?” Misaki kicked at the ground, speeding towards him and raising the baseball bat in his hand up behind his shoulder, ready to strike.

“Yata-san!” Tatara put up his hands defensively and Misaki skidded to a stop, a look of alarmed realisation on his face.

“Totsuka-san? What the hell are you doing here? You should be in hospital!” Misaki scolded.

Tatara rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “I couldn’t stay cooped up in that room while all this was going on. I needed to be here and make sure you’re all okay.”

“It’s not us you should be freakin’ worried about! You’ll catch your death out in the snow like this, idiot! You need to get somewhere warm. Preferably the hospital. Do they know where you are?”

“…No.”

Misaki clicked his tongue and reached for his phone.

“Wait, you can’t tell anyone I’m here! I’ll go inside and find somewhere warm, and I’ll look after myself, but nobody can know I’m here.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because you’re all huge gossips, and someone will tell King, and I don’t want him worrying about me.”

“He wouldn’t need to be worrying about you if you were safe in the hospital like you’re supposed to be.” Misaki folded his arms. “Why the hell are you even here?”

“Because I’m afraid that King is going to try and kill the man who shot me himself, and if he does that he might have a Damocles Down.”

Misaki seemed somewhat taken aback by his pessimism; it was the first time he’d seen Tatara without his trademark carefree attitude. “Everyone keeps talking about that, and I don’t really know what it is,” he grumbled.

“He’ll use up too much power and his Sword of Damocles will fall on him and cause another Kagutsu Crater Incident.”

“He could die...?”

“Worse than that…” Tatara sighed. “I need to be here to stop that happening; that’s why I can’t go back to the hospital. Please promise you won’t tell anyone.”

“Fine, fine. As long as you let me find you somewhere to hang out inside. It’s not good for you to be getting cold and wet in the snow. You’ll get a fever or another infection or something.”

“Alright, deal.”

Misaki held out a hand to help Tatara up, and Tatara let out an involuntary yelp as the sudden movement pulled at the wound on his chest. He stumbled forward, his head spinning from the motion, and Misaki caught him carefully.

“Totsuka-san?” Misaki’s voice sounded panicked.

“I’m fine… I used my powers earlier so I’m a little dizzy, and my stitches hurt if I move too fast.”

Misaki frowned, but there wasn’t much point in telling him off again. He braced his arm around Tatara’s waist to make sure he didn’t fall over and walked him inside, down to a classroom at the end of the corridor that had already been given the all clear. From the window, Tatara could still see the figure of Mikoto, unmoved from his position lying on the wall despite the snow that was inevitably falling on him.

Tatara sat cross-legged on a desk and watched his King, until a flicker of movement near where he was lying caught his eye, and he spotted Anna approaching Mikoto. Dusk was beginning to fall, and her white hair almost seemed to glow faintly against the twilight, the way fresh snowfall seems to. She began climbing up the wall towards Mikoto, and he caught her when she slipped and set her down beside him. Mikoto’s body glowed red for a moment, melting the snow that had settled on him, then Anna laid down beside him and tucked herself under his arm. Tatara couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of her; he wanted so badly to be with Mikoto at that moment. He was unused to going more than a day without seeing him, and he couldn’t help but pine after him a little, especially in a situation like this.

Tatara had lost himself so thoroughly in watching Mikoto and Anna that he hadn’t noticed that Misaki had left the room, and he looked up in surprise at the sound of the door opening. Misaki returned with a coffee cup from a vending machine and a handful of snacks.

“Here, this’ll warm you up,” he said, pressing the cup into Tatara’s hand. The sweet smell of hot chocolate wafted upward from it. “And I figured you probably didn’t eat, or bring any food, so...”

Tatara gave him a sheepish look to confirm his suspicions, and Misaki rolled his eyes and dropped the assortment of snacks on the desk beside him; again all of them seemed to have come from a vending machine.

“You didn’t have to do all this for me,” Tatara protested, though his stomach was twisting uncomfortably with hunger.

“Tch, of course I did. If I’m the only one who knows you’re here, who else is gonna look after you? It’s not like you’re any good at taking care of yourself. Anyway, I gotta get going. I’m on watch duty, have to make sure those Blue dogs don’t try anything funny.”

“Are you okay?” Tatara asked suddenly.

“Eh?”

“You’ve had a rough time of it over this past week or so, and it can’t help that Fushi-“

Misaki cut him off. “I don’t give a shit about what that damn monkey is doing, as long as he stays out of my way,” he grumbled. “Besides, it’s you you should be worrying about, not me. I’m fine.”

Tatara laid a hand on his shoulder empathetically, and Misaki’s expression softened slightly. Even if Misaki wouldn’t admit it, Tatara knew full well that these past days were tough on him. “If you need anything you know where I am,” he insisted.

“Yeah, same to you. Call me if you need something, and let me know if you move from here.”

“I will. Thank you.”

Misaki stepped on the end of his skateboard and flipped it up into his hand. “See ya later.”

“Be safe. See you soon.”

Misaki clicked his tongue at the gentle warning as he left the room, and Tatara chuckled quietly, then returned his gaze to Mikoto, who had expanded his aura into a faint red bubble around him and Anna to keep the snow off them.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat like that, but soon he was starting to lose the feeling in his feet, and he dropped off the desk to walk around until the pins and needles abated. As he walked, he felt something warm against his leg, and slipped his hand into his pocket to find that the marble Anna had given him had begun to heat up. He lifted it to his eye again, but couldn’t see anything, though there was a faint sound coming from it, like a hum or a mutter. Tatara held the glass bead close to his ear, and heard Izumo’s voice. He hurried back to the window and saw him sitting on a large hunk of rubble near where Mikoto lay.

“The very first time I met Totsuka, I thought the kid wasn’t dealing from a full deck.” Tatara could hear Izumo clearly, as though they were in the same room. “Despite your menacing demeanour, the kid approached you like you were buddies, boasting that he was going to be the vassal of a King. And then, you actually became a real King. I didn’t think you were the type to protect people and bring them together. I figured you were more like a bomb with a short fuse. But I think Totsuka sees something different in you.”

“You’re more correct than Totsuka is,” Mikoto replied.

“Even so, since becoming a King, you’ve become less like that short-fused bomb, and more like a gun that protected what needed to be protected. In the beginning, I never imagined I could have so much fun with the people who gathered around you.”

Mikoto rolled onto his side to face away from Izumo. “Stop, you’re sounding like Totsuka and it’s giving me the creeps.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Izumo got to his feet. “Kid’s probably got a little too much faith in you. Still, you’ve always proved him right to have that faith before. Oh, and he told me to tell you he loves you.”

“You’re right; he’s not dealing from a full deck.”

Izumo chuckled. “Anna, come with me.”

Anna looked up at him.

“Mikoto has business to take care of.” Izumo lifted her down from the wall as Mikoto sat up. “Someone’s here to see you.” Izumo informed him.

Tatara felt his heart speed up nervously. Izumo wasn’t talking about him, was he? Did he know he was here?

Mikoto dropped down from the wall, and to his relief, began walking away from the school into the woods, not towards it. If Mikoto knew where he was, he would have headed straight towards Tatara, though he was now left wondering who it was who had come to see him. He watched Mikoto disappear into the shade of the woods, and a vague sense of panic began to tighten in his chest as he slipped out of sight; Tatara couldn’t help but worry if he would ever see him again. Glimpses of the nightmare he’d had earlier began to force their way into his head, and he chewed his lip anxiously. Mikoto had promised he would come back, and Tatara tried as best he could to hang onto that. 


	12. Part 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter can also be found on [Tumblr](http://mistleto-3.tumblr.com/post/143059185649/breathing-part-12)

Mikoto paused in his footsteps at the sight of Reisi standing in his path. He chuckled; really he didn’t expect it to be anyone else.

“I thought sharing the same air with me made you want to puke?”

“Sometimes I feel like breathing toxic air.” Reisi took out a packet of cigarettes, caught one between his lips, then offered the box to Mikoto, who raised his eyebrows slightly in surprise, but accepted the offer nonetheless. As Reisi reached into his jacket for a lighter, Mikoto lit the cigarette between his friend’s lips with a click of his fingers as he walked past to sit heavily on the steps behind him. Reisi smirked faintly, but the smile faded as he watched his friend’s expression as he lit his own cigarette. It was clearly the face of a man in a great deal of pain.

Reisi sighed, then got to the point, his voice sombre. “I’ll be very direct. Relinquish this school peacefully. I can’t overlook the way you’re involving innocent high-school students. If you comply now, I can settle things before they get out of hand.”

“’That’s a fine idea.’ Is that what you expected me to say?”

“It’s not an idea; it’s an ultimatum. You’ve gone too far, Suoh. That being the case, allow me to slay Totsuka Tatara’s attacker, the man who calls himself the Colourless King.”

Mikoto looked up at him. “Hm?”

“If you’ll consent to that, I’ll execute him in any way you wish.”

“That’s very generous of you. But no thanks.”

Reisi’s tone became stern. “I’m sure you’ve seen the shape your Sword of Damocles is in. The Sword is the symbol of a King, and manifests the truest image of its King’s condition. Your Sword will come crashing down soon.”

Mikoto exhaled a lungful of smoke, avoiding Reisi’s eyes. “Oh really?”

“Your Weismann level is at the brink. The added burden of killing a King here will certainly exceed your limit. You’ll cause a repeat of the Kagutsu Crater tragedy. You no longer have any right to be a King. It’s time to step down, Red King.”

“I told you; I’ll step down when the attacker is dead. Not before. Besides, I’ve never taken any action as a King.”

Reisi grabbed Mikoto by the collar of his shirt and pinned him against the snow, his face close enough to Mikoto’s that he could smell the cigarette smoke on his breath. Mikoto didn’t think he’d ever seen him lose his cool like this before.

“There are innocent high school students here who have nothing to do with this. Your men are here too. And the blast radius of a Damocles Down would reach far beyond the hospital where Totsuka Tatara is currently recovering. Weren’t you the one who said it would be terrible for him to survive being shot, only to have you kill yourself? I told him I wouldn’t let you die. Do not make a liar out of me, Suoh. Do you understand?” The threat in his voice was barely concealed.

Mikoto didn’t say anything, and Reisi released Mikoto’s shirt and got to his feet, a look of bitter disappointment on his face as he turned away.

“It’s not your style to think you can change my mind,” Mikoto commented finally as he stood up.

“I didn’t really, I just came to see a friend.”

Mikoto gave a single, low chuckle.

“So you’re really beyond reason?” Reisi asked, but there was no hope in his voice.

Mikoto sighed, then after a long moment, finally gave in. “I’ll try an’ let you deal the killing blow, but don’t expect me to sit on the side lines the whole time and have no fun at all. I’ve been cooped up in that cell too long; I want to stretch my legs a little.”

Relief crossed Reisi’s face and he turned back towards Mikoto. 

“I promised Totsuka I would come back to him. So don’t get all proud of yourself as if I changed my mind because of you.”

Reisi smiled faintly, pushing up his glasses. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I’m going to keep looking. When I find him, don’t make me wait for you. I’m not a patient man.”

“I wouldn’t call taking a nap ‘looking,’ Suoh. And don’t insult me; I know your impatience better than most,” Reisi said with a slight smirk, following Mikoto as he turned and walked back to the school. Mikoto gave him a questioning look.

“I’m not following you. I have my own clan to return to as well, you know.”

“Fair enough.” Mikoto took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offered one to Reisi, who put up his hand to decline politely.

“Come on, you’re already breathing toxic air just by walking with me. And you dropped your cigarette when you pinned me back then,” Mikoto pointed out, and Reisi conceded and took the cigarette with a smile, this time unsurprised when Mikoto reached over and lit it with his fingers. “You got a little too far into my personal space there. You do know I’m in a relationship,” he joked, and Reisi chuckled quietly.

“So how is Totsuka?”

“Recovering. I take it it was that day in the hospital that you told him you wouldn’t let me die.”

Reisi nodded.

“What else did you talk to him about? I know it wasn’t the investigation.”

The smile on Reisi’s lips faded. “I told him to stop being so reckless.”

“I’ve been telling him that for years; he never listens.”

“I think he’ll be a little more inclined to now, given the gravity of the situation he’s landed himself in.”

“I hope you’re not trying to say it was his fault that he was shot.” Mikoto’s voice remained casual, but there was an underlying threat beneath his tone.

“No, of course not. But it’s not the first time he’s ended up in hospital. His fate is inextricably linked with yours; you’re much more volatile when he’s injured.”

“That’s my problem, not his. He’s always the collateral damage, the one who gets hurt by people who’re trying to get to me.” He didn’t respond to the second part of what Reisi had said; there were plenty of reasons why he didn’t want to admit out loud that he needed Tatara. Not that Reisi wouldn’t have figured that out already. 

“I hope you’re not trying to say it was _your_ fault he got shot.” Reisi raised an eyebrow at Mikoto.

“I could have protected him if I’d been there.”

“Suoh, you know that’s nonsense. You can’t be expected to follow him around every minute of every day in case something happens to him.” Reisi gave Mikoto a concerned look.

“It seems every time that I don’t, something does happen to him. It’s really quite stressful, worrying he’s going to die on me all the time.” Mikoto spoke the jest without an ounce of humour.

“It’s not your fault that he got hurt when you weren’t there. Now I’m not saying you’ve handled this situation perfectly, but the only person to be blamed for starting it is the Colourless King. And he’ll be dead before tomorrow is out.”

“Careful, I’ll hold you to that.”

“I don’t mind if you do. The sooner this is over, the better.”

“Agreed.” 


	13. Part 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter can also be found on [Tumblr](http://mistleto-3.tumblr.com/post/143449350414/breathing-part-13)
> 
> _Redrafted 15/07/2017_

The distant rumble of an explosion turned the heads of the hoard of Blue clansmen towards Ashinaka island, where a cloud of thick, dark smoke began to unfurl over the roof of one of the buildings.

“Is the Red King at it again?!” Hidaka exclaimed, his brow furrowing.

Seri stepped forward to her King’s side, murmuring under her breath to him: “Captain, I thought you said he agreed to back down?”

“I would never have gotten him to acquiesce to a full surrender; I’ve simply whittled him down to agreeing not to deliver the killing blow to the Colourless King himself.”

“Isn’t that still dangerous?”

“Yes, but at least he no longer has a guaranteed death sentence. I couldn’t hope to get any more concessions out of him, not considering the circumstances. Though I was hoping he’d have enough sense to at least avoid a clan war.”

“Which circumstances?”

“Suoh is not a forgiving person, and someone tried to kill the man he loves.” Reisi’s gaze dropped from the plume of smoke to fix on the ground for a moment; the prediction that Tatara had told him about brought a flicker of sadness with it every time it crossed his mind. In the end, all of this would be for nought if Tatara really had a death sentence hanging over his head, like his own Sword of Damocles.  Still, it wasn’t as though Reisi could give up now, not with so many innocent people at risk.

Seri gave a small nod and returned to the ranks, then a moment later, Reisi gave a heavy sigh, turned around to face his clansmen and ordered: “Men. Prepare to move in.”

Tatara was awoken by the thundering of an explosion. His shoulders were stiff and his back was sore from having fallen asleep on the table. Wincing at the throb of protest from his wound, he got to his feet and hobbled over to the window; there were none of his fellow clansmen anywhere in sight. Anxiety kindled in his stomach, and Tatara took a few deep breaths to try and calm himself, hoping that whatever had woken him hadn’t hurt anyone. He stood with his forehead pressed to the cold glass for a moment and closed his eyes. There was a dull ache between his temples, and his face felt warm; Misaki had been right- being out in the snow without a coat hadn’t been good for him.

A few minutes later, alow siren began to wail, and the grating sound didn’t do anything to help his headache. Then his phone buzzed in his pocket; it was a message from Misaki that read:

_“The Blue dogs are attacking the island. We don’t know who caused the explosion, don’t think it was one of us. Nobody knows where Mikoto-san is though. Stay safe.”_

Tatara chewed his lip. If it was Mikoto who had caused the explosion, that meant he was suffering; he only got needlessly destructive when he was in pain. And more importantly, it meant he was overusing his powers, which only pushed the agonising fear that he would have a Damocles Down a little further into the forefront of Tatara’s mind. He was glad there was nobody around so he didn’t have to keep up his cheerful front; he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do it at a time like this. The worry of not knowing Mikoto’s whereabouts was physically painful.

After what felt like forever, the sound of the siren finally ceased, and somewhere in the distance he could hear a woman’s voice over a loudspeaker; he vaguely recognised it as the voice of the Blue clan’s lieutenant.

“This is a warning for Suoh Mikoto and his followers. Put your weapons down and surrender immediately! Or else…”

He couldn’t make out the rest of what she’d been about to say; a low, threatening roar obscured her voice. Tatara headed into the corridor, and out of the window of the hallway he could see the two clans in the courtyard, squaring off against one another. His fellow Red clansmen were shouting, brandishing their weapons, stamping their feet.

“ _No Blood! No Bone! No Ash! No Blood! No Bone! No Ash!”_

The pride and ferocity of their war cry sent a thrill down Tatara’s spine. Even the hardest of hearts would waver in the face of the full fury of Homra, and he couldn’t help but be proud of his brothers; after all, they had taken up arms, gone to _war,_ to protect him. Still, the twisting fear in the pit of his stomach that someone would be hurt because he couldn’t keep himself out of trouble remained, nibbling away in the pit of his stomach as did the guilt that they were doing all this to keep him safe, get revenge for his nearly-mortal wound, and yet here he was, putting himself in harm’s way all over again.

Another explosion interrupted his train of thought, this one much closer, and Tatara yelped in surprise as the floor shook under his feet and cracks spiderwebbed across the window he’d been standing in front of. The explosions were becoming more and more frequent. He retreated back into the classroom to sit under a table, vaguely remembering the earthquake preparedness training he’d received as a child, though he wasn’t sure how well it applied to a situation like this. There was no protocol for being caught in the battle zone for a war between two supernatural clans.

Tatara’s phone buzzed once more. Izumo’s voice sounded strained on the other end of the line when he answered. He kept the receiver covered as best he could to disguise the muffled sounds of the fighting.

“Totsuka, where the hell are you?”

“What?” Tatara froze, doing his best to sound casual, but the fear that he’d been discovered and that Mikoto knew he was caught up in all of this was worse than his fear of the fighting itself.

“The hospital just called and told me you’d disappeared. Don’t you think we have enough to worry about without you going AWOL on us?”

Tatara couldn’t help but breathe a silent sigh of relief when it turned out that Izumo didn’t know where he was. “Sorry Kusanagi-san, I just couldn’t bear to be cooped up in that hospital room on my own while all this is going on. I was going stir-crazy, so I went back to the bar, at least it feels like home there.”

Izumo’s voice softened and he murmured the word: “Idiot…” with a slightly affectionate tone. “Look, at least tell me where you’re going next time, okay?”

“Sorry,” he repeated. “You sound stressed, is everything okay?”

“The Blues have showed up, and it’s quickly turning into an all-out clan war. And one of them shot at Anna.”

“What?!” Tatara felt his blood turn to ice in his veins. _Not her. Please, for the love of God, not her._

“She’s okay, she’s okay. They didn’t hit her, she’s just a bit shaken up.”

The breath that Tatara didn’t realise he’d been holding escaped his lungs all at once, and his vision blurred with tears. “Thank God… Give her a hug for me, okay?”

“Will do.”

“Oh, and how’s King?”

“I don’t know where he is. He wandered off somewhere about an hour ago. I called him just now to tell him about Anna, but all he said was ‘okay’ and then he hung up. But he spoke to Munakata last night, so he might have had a bit of sense talked into him.”

Tatara gave a tense chuckle, trying his best to keep the stress out of his voice. “You and I both know it’s impossible to talk sense into King.”

“Yeah, you’re right about that. I’m sure he’ll be fine, just take care of yourself.”

“I will. Good luck, speak to you soon.”

“See you,” Izumo replied, then the line went dead.


	14. Part 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter can also be found on [Tumblr](http://mistleto-3.tumblr.com/post/143817369644/breathing-part-14)
> 
> _Redrafted 15/07/2017_

“I found you.” Mikoto stood with his hands in his pockets, his voice low and casual, but there was hostility in his tone. A faint, feral smirk played on his lips. At the sight of that face, the face of the man who shot Tatara, he felt his powers flare viciously inside him, like a grease fire that had been doused with water. There were three others standing with the shooter: a student, a white-haired girl he didn’t recognise but who had the air of a strain about her, and the Black Dog. Internally, he decided he’d do his best not to hurt the student; if nothing else he knew Reisi would have his hide for it. Not that Reisi wouldn’t have his hide for attacking them right here anyway. But Mikoto wasn’t sure he cared. His powers scorched his insides; the fury that welled in his blood at the sight of that man, the man from the video, the man who tried to murder his lover… Suddenly there was nothing else. Nothing but pure, bitter, murderous rage. He could taste bile in the back of his throat. Mikoto promised himself he would not let him get away.

The Black Dog stepped forward, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Stay back.” He warned.

Mikoto’s smile widened slightly. “Come on now…” He took a few slow steps forward. “I came all this way because you called me out here. So stop playing dumb.”

They didn’t respond for a moment, confusion on their faces, and the fire building up inside him became too much in those few seconds of silence. With a quiet sigh of relief, he let it out. The crackling aura exploded out from his body, surrounding him, and the shooter and his friends flinched, shielding their faces with their arms from the burning heat. Mikoto took another step forward towards the shooter, but the Black Dog stepped into his path.

“You’re in my way.” Mikoto put up his arm to push him aside, and the Black Dog stopped it with his own. A single, humourless chuckle came from the back of Mikoto’s throat, and he grabbed the young man by the back of his neck and tossed him carelessly aside, like a ragdoll.

“Kuro!” The shooter’s voice sounded different to how it had on the video; there wasn’t that same sadistic lilt to it. The strain girl hissed, and the very air around them seemed to ripple, and when it steadied again, the glass and concrete had been replaced by trees and a thick canopy.

“Huh?” The sound was low and venomous as it rose from Mikoto’s throat. The Kuro’s three companions hurried over to him in concern, and Mikoto fixed his gaze on the strain girl.

“Are you doing this, bitch?”

He turned to glare at her, and a look of sudden terror crossed her face.

“Woman, keep out of this!” With a flash of red, he burned up the illusion as Kuro got to his feet.

“Go, now!” The Black Dog urged, then flung out his aura in the form of a translucent, grasping hand to give the others time to escape. Mikoto blocked it easily with his own. That was definitely the Colourless aura; what more proof did he need that the Colourless King was here?

“I see… No wonder Yata had a hard time dealing with you.” The Black Dog was undeniably strong, but no mere clansman could stand against the Red King, especially not when he was in this state; he was a wounded beast- the pain of recent days had only angered him. Mikoto raised his arms above his head, breathing in the smell of smoke through his teeth, then brought them down, sending a shockwave of flames at his opponent that tore up the cobblestones beneath him. Kuro leapt over the explosion, managing to avoid the worst of the heat, then kicked out at Mikoto as he descended again. Once again, his attacks were easily deflected. Kuro landed on his feet, squaring off against Mikoto once more, though the strain was beginning to show on his face. The intense heat had sweat beginning to bead on his brow and dampen his hair, and his chest heaved.

“Not bad.” Mikoto commented. “I’d like to keep playing with you, but unfortunately, my patience has reached its limit.” He dropped into a fighting stance, crossing his arms in front of his body and setting his feet slightly apart. “Like I said before, you’re in my way.” He snarled the words as his aura burst out of his body to encase him in an orb of flames that swelled slowly, expanding towards the Colourless clansman who stood opposite him. Kuro launched a few more desperate attacks before the fire reached him, but they slid off the cocoon of red that Mikoto had formed around himself. 

A shock of blue shattered off the orb of writhing flames, and it dissipated into wisps of wine-coloured smoke, mere feet away from the Black Dog. Mikoto turned to face Reisi, who carried Eric’s unconscious body over his shoulder. There was blood on his uniform.

“I have a grasp of the situation now.” Reisi announced.

“Then we can cut to the chase.”

Reisi laid the Red clansman on the ground, gritting his teeth as he saw Mikoto's eyes fixate on the shooter again, who seemed to be preparing to make a run for it. Mikoto clicked his tongue and his aura engulfed his hand. His intentions were obvious- to incinerate the shooter before he could get away. Reisi leapt forward, Blue clashing with Red as he attacked in an attempt to draw Mikoto's attention away from the boy he had been preparing to kill.

“Munakata!” Mikoto growled.

“You said you would let me deliver the killing blow. Are you really that much of a barbarian?”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

The pair sprang apart, squaring up to one another.

“What are you talking about Suoh?”

“One of your dogs shot at Anna.”  He spat the words, the fury in his voice almost made Reisi flinch; it was unusual for Mikoto to show more than a whisper of emotion. He had done a reasonable job of keeping his composure, but the cracks were beginning to show, and it was no small wonder why. It had been bad enough that less than two weeks ago someone had shot his lover, and now someone had done the same to the girl he loved like a daughter. Reisi could see that he was a man on the brink of self-destruction by the look in his eyes.

“What exactly do you think you’re up to?” Mikoto’s eyes were narrow, his voice back under control.

“One of your clansmen stabbed me.” Reisi replied calmly, gesturing at the bloodstain on his waistcoat. “But it wasn't one of your clansmen, and the man who shot at Anna wasn't one of mine; the Colourless King isn’t one man, rather, he possesses the bodies of other people. He possessed the body of the white-haired boy, your clansman, and my clansman, and had them do these terrible things for the purpose of creating discord and sparking a clan war, which apparently, has been successful.”

“So you’re telling me the same guy tried to kill Totsuka _and_ Anna?" Another faint smirk twisted the corners of Mikoto’s lips to bare his teeth, but it was more a grimace than a smile.  "I thought you were trying to stop me killing him, Munakata, not egging me on.”

“I’m telling you not to kill that boy because the Colourless King likely abandoned his body days ago.”

“He has a Colourless clansman and a strain with him; that’s pretty incriminating, don’t you think? There’s only so many members of my family he can shoot at before I lose my patience with him.”

“Don’t you see? That’s exactly what he wants, Suoh. He’s trying to manipulate you into overextending your powers and having a Damocles Down, and if you kill him, you’re letting him win.”

“I didn’t say I’d kill him. But you’ve got to let me give him a little parting gift first.” Mikoto’s aura engulfed his hand once more, and his smile became menacing. He obviously had no intent to allow the Colourless King a painless death. “Surely you won’t deny me that satisfaction?”

“It’s too dangerous. If you get carried away and lose control, a million people could die.”

“You’re such a stick in the mud.”

“Don’t do this, Suoh. Don’t be a fool.”

“I told you not to expect me to sit on the side lines. Come on, Munakata; I said I’d abdicate the throne. Give me this one last thing.” Mikoto set his feet apart once more, ready to spring at his friend. In all honesty, he didn’t want to fight him, but he needed the release of battle, the catharsis of letting off some of that steam before it burned him up from within, and if he couldn't take it out on the shooter, this would have to do. Besides, Reisi was being unreasonable; death was too merciful a punishment for the Colourless King. After what he’d done, he deserved to suffer.

When Reisi began to reply, no doubt planning to say something self-righteous, Mikoto cut him off as he pounced. Their auras clashed, and Reisi jumped back, obviously torn between wanting to diffuse the situation before it got out of hand, and keeping Mikoto's attention on him and away from the Colourless King. But there was only so long he could hold back; Mikoto clearly wasn't, and the rush of battle was intoxicating, even for the Blue King. Before long, he had stopped merely avoiding Mikoto's attacks and began returning some of his own, leading him towards the woods and away from the school buildings. They tore through the forest, and glimpses of blue and red light flashed between the trees like fireworks. Butts of dust rose from the explosions in their wake. Finally, they skidded to a stop in a clearing, neither of them so much as breathing quickly.

“Stop it, Munakata. You’re making me start to enjoy this, even though you’re not the one I’m after.” There was an almost serene look on his face.

Reisi opened his mouth to retort when a beam of silver light flashed into existence behind him, reaching up towards the sky in a blinding pillar. The pair of them turned towards it, watching the light spiral upwards, then almost peel back, splitting open to reveal a gleaming silver Sword of Damocles.

“That’s…” Reisi breathed, surprise in his eyes.

“What’ll it be?” Mikoto’s hands returned to his pockets. “You can go help them if you like.”

Reisi turned back towards him, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a faint smirk. “And ruin the moment?”

Mikoto grinned slightly in return. “You’ve got a point. After all, this’ll be our last fight.”


	15. Part 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter can also be found on [Tumblr](http://mistleto-3.tumblr.com/post/144155158249/breathing-part-15)
> 
> _Redrafted 15/07/2017_

Reisi swung his blade as he sprinted alongside Mikoto, sending a streak of blue light towards his counterpart. Mikoto deflected it instinctively and lunged at Reisi in return, leaping upwards as their auras clashed. Then he spun in mid-air, angling his body down towards the paving stones under his friend’s feet. Reisi sent up another bolt of Blue, which only seemed to slide off Mikoto like a raindrop, then dodged backwards as his friend collided with the ground in a fireball. Mikoto darted after him, and the heat emanating from his body suddenly intensified. Flames buffeted against Reisi’s aura like storm winds, fierce and tempestuous, powerful enough to crack one of the lenses in his glasses.  He put up his hand to shield his eyes from the burning red light as power exploded from Mikoto’s body, charring the trees around him to blackened skeletons.

When the smoke cleared, Mikoto turned to face him again, sliding his hands into his pockets. “We’re not finished, are we?”

“If you still refuse to see reason, then no, I would say we’re just getting started.” Reisi removed his broken glasses and tossed them aside.

Mikoto smirked. “No more time-outs from you, got it?”

“Like you would ever listen to me.”

“I listen. I just choose not to take your advice into account.”

“Perhaps you should. Then we wouldn’t be fighting, and your Weissmann level wouldn’t be getting closer to the limit by the second.”

“Think of it this way: the more steam I let out now, the easier it’ll be to control myself when I finally come face-to-face with that bastard.”

“The more steam you let out now, the smaller the margin for error will be if you insist on burning the attacker before I administer the death penalty. If you’re even a few fractions of a second out on the timing, you’ll trigger a Damocles Down.”

“’Administer the death penalty’ is such a pretentious way of putting it...” Mikoto paused. “Does that mean you’re letting me burn him?”

“No. You can barely control yourself as it is, let alone down to that level of accuracy.”

“You really ought to take that stick out of your ass, Munakata,” Mikoto said with a chuckle, then lunged at his friend again. Reisi dodged out of the firing line once more and started running, with Mikoto close on his heels. They shot out of the woods into a courtyard, and Reisi spun around to meet Mikoto’s attack. Their auras shattered off each other, then Mikoto leapt back, his chest heaving as he eyed his opponent.

“What’s the matter? Is that all you’ve got? I know you can do better,” he taunted.

“It’s because I don’t have my glasses.” Reisi explained, gesturing at his face with a smirk.

“You’re not taking this too seriously, are you?”

“One cannot afford to be so nonchalant when locked in battle with the Red King himself.”

Mikoto clicked his tongue. “I’ve always hated that overly-polite manner of yours. Can’t you speak like a normal person?”

“It is my mission as one of the seven Kings and my duty as the leader of Sceptre 4 to defeat you.” Reisi’s face dropped, and there was a pained look in his eyes. “Personally, as Munakata Reisi, I want to help you, Suoh.”

Mikoto chuckled. “That’s not like you at all. Besides, if you really wanted to help me you’d let me burn him a little. All I want is a few seconds, tops. It would help me sleep easier. Surely that’s not too much to ask, is it?”

“I told you, it’s too dangerous. Every second we keep fighting, your Sword of Damocles takes more and more damage.” He gestured with his head at the air above Mikoto; a steady rain of rust-coloured flakes fluttered down from his Sword like snow. “I’m trying to make sure I keep my promise and get you back to Totsuka in one piece, but you’re making it awfully difficult.”

“And I’m trying to make sure nobody dares lay a hand on him again.”

“You’ll be no good to him dead, Suoh.”

“I have no intention of dying. I just need to see that bastard suffer.” Mikoto said with a smirk, and lunged forward.

 

The Colourless King watched from a perch in a tree some distance away, giggling as the two Swords of Damocles pirouetted lazily around one another and columns of smoke coiled upward towards them from the sparks of red and blue that flashed through the canopy.

“That’s it… Keep it up,” he murmured, then blinked, and the expression on the face he’d borrowed changed suddenly, the smirk disappearing in favour of a wide-eyed look. The voice he spoke with became higher and more nasal, losing the venomous tone it’d had before.

“That’s odd… don’t you think it’s a little too quiet?” He looked back over his shoulder towards the school; the flashes of coloured light and the battle cries that had been rising from the courtyards closer to the main complex had ceased.

His voice changed once more. “You’re right…” He leaned back to drop out of the tree, twisting in the air as he fell to land on his feet, then headed back towards the buildings to investigate, leaving the Kings to their battle. 


	16. Part 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter can also be found on [Tumblr](http://mistleto-3.tumblr.com/post/144510371194/breathing-part-16)
> 
> _Redrafted 15/07/2017_

Misaki’s back arched in pain, and he cried out through gritted teeth, his fingers shooting to his collarbone to claw at the tattoo emblazoned there. Saruhiko pulled his hand aside and tugged down the collar of his shirt, exposing the insignia that glowed red, like smouldering charcoal.  

“Mikoto-san…” Misaki hissed, the pain in his voice overridden by his concern.

“His powers are starting to go out of control…” Saruhiko remarked. “He’s not going to make it.”

Misaki gritted his teeth, snarling as he grabbed the collar of Saruhiko’s shirt. “Damn you! Don’t you care anymore?! You looked up to him as your King once! I’m sure you’ve still got it in you.”

“Are you done yet?” Kuroh’s voice made Misaki jump. “You’re the only ones still fighting.”

The pair looked around; the school courtyard had fallen quiet without them noticing, and most of the clansmen who had clashed there a brief while back were gone.

“Yata-san, let’s go. Everyone’s already evacuated,” Rikio called over to them as he approached.

Misaki froze, releasing his grip on Saruhiko’s collar.  “Evacuated? Everyone? The students as well?"

"Yeah, that's where the rest of Homra went; we were getting the school kids out of here."

"Shit…” Misaki sprang to his feet, a look of panic in his eyes. “Is Kusanagi-san still here?”

“No, he’s off the island with the rest of the clan… why?” Rikio’s brow creased in concern.

Misaki reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, his hand shaking with urgency as he dialled Izumo’s number. As it rang, he fidgeted anxiously.

“Yata-san, we have to go…” Rikio had just begun walking towards his friend when Izumo picked up.

“Yata-san, where are you? You need to get off the island quickly.” Izumo's voice was distorted; the energy in the air crackled as static on the phone line.

Misaki replied in an urgent tone. “No, Kusanagi-san, I can’t…”

Izumo cut him off: “Even Anna’s enduring this whole situation, take it like a man and get out here. It’s not safe.”

Misaki ignored his warning, pressing on. “When you were evacuating, did you find Totsuka-san?”

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, and Kuroh, Saruhiko, and Rikio all froze, staring at Misaki.

“What do you mean ‘find Totsuka’?” Izumo’s voice was low.

“He’s on the island. He came because wanted to be close by in case Mikoto-san was in trouble, but he told me not to tell anybody because if Mikoto-san found out he was here it would just stress him out even more.”

“You idiot, you should have told me before we started evacuating!”

Kuroh cut in. “If I may… That’s the man who was shot by the Colourless King, isn’t it? Do you know where he is? I can find him and get him off the island for you while you evacuate.”

Misaki gritted his teeth, his head snapping around to fix his eyes on Kuroh. “Why the hell would I trust you? You’re in cahoots with the guy who fucking shot him!”

“Yata-san, he's okay. Look, I don’t have time to tell you the whole story right now, it’s too complicated, but the Black Dog is on our side. It’s the Silver King he’s allied with, not the Colourless King,” Izumo explained.

Misaki clicked his tongue, but obeyed his superior, though he kept his eye on Kuroh as he spoke. “Fine. He’s in the last classroom on the top floor corridor, east wing of that building.” He gestured towards where he’d last seen Tatara. “But I’m going with you.”

“Yata-san,” Izumo protested.

“I’m not leaving him here!” Yata barked the words into the receiver, his voice cracking almost imperceptibly.

“…Alright,” Izumo conceded. Misaki had already almost watched Tatara die in his arms once; Izumo knew he wouldn’t forgive himself for abandoning his friend. “But be careful. And you might have some trouble persuading him to come back. He’s stubborn; he’ll want to stay with Mikoto-san.” He sighed. “I bet he thinks he’s doing good by being there… stupid kid’s gonna get himself hurt again.”

“I put him somewhere safe when I found him earlier, he’ll be fine.” Misaki sounded as though he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince Izumo. “I’ll call you when we’ve got him.”

“Alright. Then come straight off the island, got it?”

“Got it.”

“Alright. Be careful, see you soon.”

Misaki hung up, then turned to Rikio. “You go, we’ll catch up.”

“No way. I’m not leaving you here either,” Rikio protested. Misaki noticed his gaze flickering towards Kuroh as he spoke, mistrust still in his eyes.

Misaki opened his mouth to object, then closed it again with an exasperated sigh. “We don’t have time to argue, so fine.” He turned around and paused for a moment. Saruhiko had vanished while they’d been speaking. “Hey… where’d that monkey go?”

Rikio shrugged.

Misaki clicked his tongue. “Whatever. Let’s go.”

* * *

 

The Colourless King had been watching the clansmen from the shadow of the treeline, drawn to the sound of combat. A smirk contorted his face at the Red clansman's yelp of pain and the sight of his Homra insignia burning. The Red King was edging ever closer to losing control, though that was easy enough to see from the state of his Sword.

He watched the clansmen argue for a moment, but soon began to lose interest; with all of them together in a group like this, it would be too risky to skip into one of their bodies, and he had no other use for them. Though at least he knew why it was so quiet now; the blond man had mentioned an evacuation. The Colourless King sighed to himself.

_How inconvenient._

If there was nobody left on the island, that meant there was nobody left for him to possess, should he need to abandon this girl’s body.

 _Kukuri._ That was the name the Silver King and his little gaggle of friends had addressed her as. That was the name she repeated to herself inside his head when she escaped the little cage he’d crammed her into, begging for help and making a desperate attempt to cling to her identity.

The mention of the name “Totsuka” recaptured his interest.

_"He’s on the island."_

The Colourless King giggled at the news, though the sound was distorted, unnatural. “Totsuka-kun? Isn’t that the guy I shot?” he murmured to himself. His voice went from high pitched and feminine to low and musical as he replied to himself.

“Mhmm~ And I heard he’s the Red King’s lover. Which means…” This time, his cadence changed mid-sentence as his face twisted into an uncanny smirk. “…I bet I can use him to get to the Red King. He got so mad when I almost killed him; I bet it’ll really get under his skin if I succeed.”

 _“He’s in the last classroom on the top floor corridor, east wing of that building.”_ The Red clansman’s voice drifted over to him, and the grin that split the Colourless King’s face widened further, contorting his host’s features. He skipped through the trees until he was out of sight of the clansmen, then cut across the courtyard towards an open fire exit door to slip inside.

* * *

Tatara stood, staring out of the window with his back to the door when the Colourless King silently entered the room. His gaze was fixed on the two Swords of Damocles hovering in the distance, and the smoke and flashes of coloured light rising from the trees beneath them. He clutched his phone tightly, drumming his fingertips against the glass in anxiety as though waiting for a call, despite it having run out of battery hours ago. With his other hand he rubbed the Homra insignia on his shoulder where it smarted and burned at his King’s distress. He chewed his bottom lip as he watched a slow shower of debris crumble away from Mikoto’s Sword, and hadn’t quite registered the coppery taste of blood where his teeth had broken through the skin.

“Hey, isn’t it a nice day out?”

Tatara spun around to face the noise. He didn’t recognise the girl who had spoken, but he did recognise the words as almost identical to the ones he’d spoken just before he was shot. And he remembered the crazed look in those eyes, and the playful, sadistic lilt to that voice. Their familiarity turned his blood to ice.

“I’m the Seventh King, the Colourless King.” The words were spoken almost identically to how they’d been said in the video; the déjà vu made Tatara flinch. He felt tears stinging his eyes.

“How’s that wound of yours? Healing nicely?” When Tatara didn’t respond, the Colourless King continued speaking. “I bet it would really piss off that boyfriend of yours if I finished what I started… ” His hand twitched for the bag hanging from his shoulder.

Tatara saw his fingers close around something made of cold, grey metal, and his breath froze in his lungs.

_Mikoto._

Even at the sight of the barrel of the gun, glinting under the fluorescent lights, Tatara’s first thought was still for his lover. If Tatata was murdered, shot _again,_ less than a mile from where Mikoto stood... Mikoto would never forgive himself. He wouldn't live long enough to forgive himself. He was already worn so thin that he could snap at any moment; his sword already quivered above his head, ready to fall at the slightest breath of wind. His grief would consume him, destroy him, like fire. There would be nothing left of him. No blood. No bone. No ash.

After a heartbeat that felt as though it lasted an hour, the Colourless King's hand stopped in its tracks, a look of realisation on his face. Then his fingers uncurled from around the handle of the gun and he zipped the bag closed once more.

“Actually, I think I have a better idea."

The breath that Tatara didn't realise he was holding escaped his throat in a trembling rush, but the fear that gripped his chest didn't relax its hold; there was a look of malicious mischief in the narrow, hollow eyes of the Colourless King.

"Hold still, this won’t hurt a bit,” the Colourless King said, his voice thick with saccharine sarcasm. What appeared to be a wisp of smoke emerged from the pupil of his eye, which thickened and swirled until it formed the shape of a fox’s head. Tatara could only stare, petrified, as the spectre darted across the room in a heartbeat. Its grinning face filled his field of vision until he could see nothing but its glistening teeth, then suddenly his body went numb. His phone slipped out of his fingers, and he heard it shatter against the tiles, though he heard the sound as though it was coming from underwater. His senses dulled. A thick fog began to cloud his mind, and the sound of the fox’s cackling ricocheted off the inside of his skull as his vision went dark.


	17. Part 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter can also be found on [Tumblr](http://mistleto-3.tumblr.com/post/144870800949/breathing-part-17)
> 
> _Redrafted 20/07/2017_

When Kuroh, Misaki, and Rikio reached the classroom, Tatara was gone. A biting chill blew in through the open window, and the unconscious body of a girl in the Ashinaka uniform lay sprawled awkwardly on the ground not far from the door.

“Kukuri!” Kuroh hurried over to kneel beside her, holding his palm in front of her lips to check she was still breathing.

Misaki rushed past him, looking around the room in alarm, his eyes wide.

“Totsuka-san?” he called, his voice wavering with vain desperation. “He promised he’d stay here…”

“Yata-san, isn’t that his phone?” Rikio pointed at the floor by the window, and Misaki ran over to pick it up. Not that he needed to; the Homra insignia on the back of the case was confirmation enough.

Kuroh looked between the pair. “This is the girl whose body the Colourless King was most recently inhabiting.” His voice was solemn.

“What?” Misaki’s head snapped around to fix his eyes on him. “What the hell does that mean?”

“The Colourless King isn’t one man; he possesses other people’s bodies and can leap from person to person. Shiro, the man in the video your friend managed to capture before he was shot, wasn’t his attacker; the Colourless King merely possessed his body and then moved on, framing him for the attack. The last body he was seen inhabiting was this one.”

“You’re not saying…” Misaki’s voice was low.

“I’m sorry. It’s safe to say that the Colourless King is now inhabiting the body of your friend.”

Misaki gritted his teeth, biting back tears. His hands curled into fists at his sides.

Kuroh got to his feet, then bowed his head. “I’ve been hunting the Colourless King for a long time now; I am confident that I can locate him, and I will do my utmost to bring Totsuka Tatara to safety. In return, might I ask that you take this girl off the island? Her name is Yukizome Kukuri; she’s my friend.”

Rikio nodded. “We’ll take her back with us.”

“Wait, ‘us’!? You can go, but like hell I’m leaving!” Misaki snapped. “I’m not gonna abandon Totsuka-san or Mikoto-san here!”

“We’re not abandoning them. Mikoto-san can take care of himself, and the Black Dog will find Totsuka-san. It’s too dangerous to stay here unnecessarily; do you think Totsuka-san would want you to get hurt or even killed for his sake? He’d never forgive himself.” Rikio’s voice was stern, and he lifted Kukuri’s unconscious body into his arms and laid her over his shoulder as he spoke.

Misaki looked conflicted, his gaze flickering back and forth between Rikio, Kuroh, and Kukuri.

“It isn’t just me who will be looking out for your friend. The Silver King’s first priority will be ensuring his safety. He’s in good hands, I give you my word,” Kuroh promised.

“And the longer we dither, the longer it will take to find him,” Rikio pointed out gently.

When Misaki opened his mouth to protest once more, Rikio cut him off by scooping him up and slinging him over his other shoulder, earning a stream of profane protests for his trouble. He turned to face Kuroh. "You might have to drag Totsuka-san kicking and screaming off the island; he won't want to leave Mikoto-san either," he said, nodding towards Misaki, who was viciously squirming against his grip.

Kuroh gave a respectful nod, and watched him leave.

* * *

A high-pitched cackle rippled through the air that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. The Kings paused in their battle, both of them looking up for the source of the sound.

“Hello there! It’s me again~. Recognise me, Red King?” The sing-song voice was Tatara’s, but it was twisted, distorted almost beyond recognition, and its tone was spiteful.

“I think you will when you see me~. I can’t say I’m a fan of your little boyfriend’s body; he’s too skinny and weak, and this bullet wound, it’s so sore whenever I move too quickly. But no matter; I don’t need him for long, and as soon as I’m done with this body of his, I think I’ll finish what I started. Put him out of his misery, you know~? It seems so cruel to leave him to suffer. If you want him back, you'll have to come and get him, and I'd be quick about it too if I were you! See you soon~!”

The echoes of the voice’s laughter hung in the air for a long moment after it had finished speaking.

When Reisi looked at Mikoto, he found his friend frozen to the spot, his eyes wide, and his hands trembling. His aura hissed and spat and crackled as it engulfed his body, and sparks rained down onto the snow.  Reisi barely ever saw him angry; Mikoto had a tendency to bury his emotions, and often seemed too apathetic to bother getting annoyed. But right now, his eyes were burning. His body shook with a terrible, chthonic rage that stoked the flames surrounding his body until the heat was so intense that a huge circle of snow around him had melted, and Reisi could it singeing the hair on his skin.

“Suoh…” Reisi’s voice was tentative.

“That _bastard!”_ Mikoto spat the words, venom dripping from his voice. “I’ll kill him.”

“Suoh, no. This is exactly what he wants. He is trying to provoke you into having a Damocles Down, and you are playing straight into his hands.”

“I don’t care; I’ll _kill_ him,” Mikoto snarled, taking a few stiff steps towards Reisi.

Reisi put out his sword to stop Mikoto from passing him. “Suoh!”

“You’re in my way.”

“I’m not moving.”

“HE HAS TOTSUKA!”

Reisi flinched in surprise; Mikoto seldom shouted, and him showing any emotion at all was almost unheard of, but he bellowed the words, his voice almost cracking with a desperate fury.

Mikoto took a shaky breath to steady himself. “That bastard is _inside his body,_ and I didn’t protect him _._ So get the fuck out of my way. I won’t ask you again.”  His voice shook as he spoke.

Reisi didn’t lower his sword. Mikoto glanced down at the cold metal pressed to his chest, then knocked the blade out of his way with his hand, seeming not to notice it slicing through the skin of his palm. Reisi leapt backwards to block his friend’s path, sending a shockwave of his aura outwards that knocked Mikoto back. Mikoto grunted at the impact, landing on his feet and skidding backwards across the paving stones.

“Munakata!” he threatened.

“The Colourless King is on the island, in Totsuka’s body. If you have a Damocles Down here, you’ll…”

Reisi was interrupted by a missile of crimson flames, and he cocooned himself in his aura to protect himself from the onslaught. The barrage let up just in time for Reisi to notice Mikoto attempting to run past him. He sent out a streak of blue from his blade that collided with Mikoto and knocked him sideways into a tree, and by the time Mikoto had gotten back to his feet, Reisi stood in front of him. Before Mikoto had time to react, Reisi delivered a swift kick in the gut, throwing him back towards the centre of the courtyard, then leapt after him, parrying his attacks as Mikoto flung punch after punch at Reisi, desperately trying to knock him out of the way.

Reisi kept his teeth gritted against the assault. When Mikoto’s attacks hit, they hit with all the power and ferocity of an injured beast, knocking the air out of Reisi’s lungs. But while Mikoto’s anger fuelled him, it also blinded him; his attacks were sloppy and his reactions were slow. He clearly was beyond rational thought, beyond being reasoned with. All he seemed able to do was lash out, and all Reisi could do at this point was keep him here, away from the Colourless King; he doubted his ability to control his friend should Mikoto finally come face to face with the person who was responsible for all this suffering, but he knew Mikoto wouldn’t let himself have a Damocles Down until he knew his lover was safe. As much as Reisi knew that what he was doing was the right thing, it broke his heart to see his friend like this, to keep him from the person he loved. Mikoto was half-mad with the rage; his grief and his guilt were consuming him, like the flames lapping at his skin. But beneath the ferociousness, the burning agony in Mikoto’s eyes was clear to see- in truth, he was terrified.  


	18. Part 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter can also be found on [Tumblr](http://mistleto-3.tumblr.com/post/145273158069/breathing-part-18)
> 
> _Redrafted 20/07/2017_

The Colourless King leaned against a torii, watching the Red and Blue Swords of Damocles from a safe distance away as they floated almost serenely in the air above the canopy. They betrayed very little of the battle going on beneath them, until suddenly, coloured light exploded out of them and collided with a crash, and the watching King flinched at the booming sound. A whimper escaped his lips involuntarily as the abrupt movement earned a throb of protest from the bullet wound in this borrowed body’s chest. He drew in a breath through his teeth as the pain dulled, then glanced back up at the Swords.

“Oh… so the Blue King is wearing down first? Well, I suppose that’s not surprising; the Red King must be so pissed off…”

His voice suddenly became higher and feminine. “Then let’s consume the Blue King first!”

Then it changed once more. “And get myself killed by the Red King? That’s not even funny. Maybe he’ll be a little less likely to completely annihilate me while I’m in this body, but on the other hand I’ve really pissed him off. Let’s wait for the Red King to weaken, and then take control of him. I can take my time with the Blue King after that.” He licked his lips. Every time the Colourless King's voice changed, so did the expression on his face, contorting Tatara's features into smirks and grimaces he never usually wore.

Inside his own head, locked away in the corner of the Colourless King’s mind, Tatara cowered, unable to do anything to stop the foreign words from flowing out of his mouth.

Once the throbbing pain in his chest had subsided a little more, the Colourless King pushed off from the gate and skipped down the path, spinning in circles as he danced across the cobblestones. “After I obtain the power of two Kings, consuming the other Kings will be a piece of cake. And once I’ve acquired the power of all seven Kings, I will be the most powerful! Who needs seven Kings anyway?” He giggled. “I’ll be the only King!”

The moment the final word was out of his mouth, he tripped on a loose paving stone and fell to his hands and knees with a gasp. Tatara burst through the Colourless King’s grip while he was surprised by the fall, and the pair wrestled for control of the body.

“I… the King…me….” It wasn’t clear whose words they were.

_King…_

The word resounded within Tatara's head, giving him resolve. He was painfully aware of how much it must have been destroying Mikoto to know what was happening to Tatara, and to know that he hadn’t stopped it. And what made it worse was the knowledge of what the Colourless King wanted to do to Mikoto, and that it would be Tatara’s fault if he succeeded. He had come here despite knowing full well how dangerous it would be. And all he’d achieved was getting himself caught to be used as bait by the Colourless King to lure Mikoto in and break him down enough to consume his power.

_If King dies and it’s my fault…_

The thought of his lover gave Tatara just enough strength to wrest control away from the Colourless King, and he felt tears sting his eyes at the relief of being able to feel anything more than pins and needles, even if it meant the full extent of the sharp pain emanating from his wound hit him all at once. His body trembled.

“King… help me…” he whispered.

“Mind not making funny faces while you’re in someone else’s body?” The sound of a voice from behind Tatara surprised him. It was familiar, and that familiarity brought with it a wave of terror that made his stomach cramp with nausea. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the white-haired figure who had spoken. The voice was that of the man who shot him, but its cadence was wrong. It was gentle and light-hearted, rather than sadistic, not that that stopped the panic that convulsed in Tatara’s gut. That panic made him lose his tenuous grip on control, and he felt numbness wash over his limbs once more. He heard his tongue click without ever having intended it to.

The Colourless King looked up to see Shiro and Kuroh standing a short way away, their bodies glowing with a faint silver light.

“Hey… y-you’re the guy from the roof…” The Colourless King imitated the timbre of Tatara’s voice, cowering as though he was afraid.

When he saw the shadow of pity cross Shiro’s face, the Colourless King took his chance, scrambling to his feet and grabbing for his gun to fire it at the pair of them. A shield of silver light enveloped them just in time for the bullets to rattle off it, but it had provided a momentary distraction long enough for the Colourless King to turn and launch himself over them. He landed in a crouch at the bottom of the steps they stood in front of, then grabbed a stun grenade from his bag and flung it at the pair. Their hands flew up to shield their eyes, and while they were blinded, he dumped the bag and sprinted away, though it was only a matter of seconds before Kuroh was in pursuit, catching up quickly as the stabbing pain emanating from the wound in his borrowed body slowed his pace. The Colourless King fired a few desperate shots backwards to deter him, but Kuroh deflected them easily, then flung out his aura towards him. It collided with the Colourless King’s back, and with a cry of surprise, he fell forwards and skidded across the icy paving stones. Kuroh leapt forward and landed in front of him.

“Kuroh! Don’t hurt him!” Shiro called, hurrying to catch up with his clansman.

Kuroh drew his sword and pointed the blade at the Colourless King, who rose shakily to his knees and looked up at him with fear in his eyes, trying to imitate the innocent expression Tatara usually wore. He clutched the aching wound on his ribcage, and a red stain began to blossom across the fabric of his shirt beneath his fingers.

“Kuroh!” Shiro warned once again.

Kuroh kept his eyes fixed on the Colourless King. “My late master’s celebrated sword ‘Kotowari.’ This is only the second time I’ve drawn it. Do you understand what that means? I have confirmed you to be an evil King. Hence, in compliance with Master Ichigen’s last words, I will slay you. I will not allow one like you to succeed Master Ichigen as the Seventh King.”

“Please… I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about… I’m not a King, I’m just a vassal...” Tears glimmered in the Colourless King’s eyes, though as he blinked them away, his face twisted into a smirk, and he cackled.

“Slay me, you say? I dare you.” The smirk was gone again just as quickly.

“No, he’s kidding, please don’t, please, I beg you! I just want to go back to my King…” Tatara was half-surprised to hear his own thoughts coming out of his mouth in the final sentence.

As Kuroh raised his sword, the Colourless King’s protestations became more desperate. “Wait, don’t! No!” He turned to Shiro. “Please, help me!”

Kuroh’s brows furrowed resolutely, and he tightened his grip on Kotowari’s handle, preparing to strike.

A crash from the woods behind them turned their heads, and Mikoto shot out of the treeline in a streak of red light, with Reisi barely a few feet behind him.

“Kuroh, stop!” Shiro warned his clansman.

“King, help me!” The words were spoken in Tatara’s voice, but they were not his own, then his face contorted once more, his pupils contracting and a grin splitting his face.

“Come on Red King~ Your little boy toy misses you!”

Mikoto’s eyes narrowed, and with a snarl, he lunged at Kuroh, his whole body burning. Simultaneously, Blue and silver shields cocooned Kuroh, Shiro, and the Colourless King, and Mikoto’s attack exploded off them. The force of the blast sent him flying backwards, and he landed on his feet on the path behind Kuroh.

"Suoh!" Reisi shouted from behind them, as he sprinted forward to skid to a halt between Mikoto and the Silver clan.

"Get away from him or I’ll kill you." Mikoto's voice was low and threatening. His gaze fixed on the blade of Kuroh's sword, hovering inches away from the Colourless King’s neck, and then flickered to the Colourless King himself.

Tatara’s features were twisted; a wide, preternatural grin splitting his face, and his pupils were contracted into pinpricks. His thin frame shook with the Colourless King’s low giggling. Tatara could see the agony carved across Mikoto’s face, his eyes boiling with guilt and grief and bloodlust as he watched the scarlet stain trickle down Tatara’s shirt. He struggled frantically against the numbness that ensnared his body, but he couldn’t force the comforting words he wanted to say to Mikoto past his lips.

"Please, Red King, there’s no need for violence. We're trying to help your clansman..." Shiro tried to explain, but Mikoto interrupted him, snarling.

"I said GET AWAY!" Mikoto's aura hissed out of his skin, so hot that Shiro could feel it burning him from 30 feet away, and it only grew hotter and brighter with every passing second as Mikoto raised his fists, his fingers twitching as he itched to close them around Kuroh’s throat. But before he had chance to attack, Reisi leapt at him, knocking him backwards. Mikoto snarled in anger, swinging at him with his fists. Reisi shoved him away, and Mikoto skidded across the cobblestones, then lunged at Reisi, trying to bowl him out of the way. Reisi danced aside, out of the path of Mikoto's attack, then sent out a shockwave of his aura as Mikoto flew past that threw him backwards towards the treeline. Instantly, Reisi leapt after him before he could launch a counterattack and dragged Mikoto back into the forest he’d burst out of moments earlier. Their Swords drifted away from the Silver clan and their captive, but Mikoto’s roars of frustration and the sound of their auras clashing off one another, like peals of thunder, rang out of the shadows long after the Red and Blue Kings had disappeared out of sight.


	19. Part 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter can also be found on [Tumblr ](http://mistleto-3.tumblr.com/post/145581549069/breathing-part-19)
> 
>  
> 
> _Redrafted 20/07/2017_

In the confusion, Shiro and Kuroh’s attention had been turned to the battle between the Third and Fourth Kings, leaving the Seventh an opening. He jumped to his feet, giggling as the spectral fox burst out of his pupil and arced through the air towards Shiro. 

“You let your guard down, Weissmann!” it taunted. “I was going to save you for later, but this will have to do!”

“Damn it!” Shiro stumbled backwards as the creature filled his field of vision.

“You’re not getting away this time, you coward!” it screeched.

Shiro arched his back as though in pain as the Colourless King burrowed into his pupil. His arms flew up to hug his chest, and he screwed his eyes shut.

A long moment passed, and then his features relaxed into the same expression he’d been wearing before- not the crazed expression of that night on the roof.

“Gotcha,” Shiro murmured.

He straightened up, then held still for a few seconds with his brow furrowed in concentration and his arm outstretched before him as if giving an offering. When he opened his eyes, they looked the same as they had a moment earlier; they weren’t wide and wild, and his pupils hadn’t contracted into pinpricks. There was no unnatural grin stretching his lips.

Kuroh lowered his sword from its threatening position beside Tatara’s neck and sheathed it, then knelt down beside him in concern. “Are you okay?”

Tatara had been swaying unsteadily, still numb, but then the sensation rushed back into his limbs all at once. The ache of exhaustion and cold, and the pain of his wound hit him in a sudden wave, and he collapsed forward onto the paving stones for a moment, his eyes shut tight. He knelt there for a moment, gasping for breath as he tried to steady his hyperventilating and the racing of his heartbeat. Slowly, he stretched out his shaking hand, then closed it into a fist, repeating the motion to ascertain he really had control of his body once more.

“Totsuka-san?” Kuroh pressed.

“Give him a moment; he’s probably in a lot of pain,” Shiro told his companion gently.

After a few seconds, he opened his eyes again to look up at Kuroh. He waited for his vision to stop swimming and for the stranger to come into focus, then tried shakily to get to his feet, his limbs stiff and foreign to him even after barely an hour. Kuroh offered him a hand, and Tatara took it steady himself. He shook his head as though to clear it and stumbled dizzily, then met Kuroh’s eyes once he had regained his balance.

“Yes, I am now… thank you.” Tatara’s voice was somewhat weak and uneven.

He turned slowly to look at Shiro with a look of uncertainty in his eyes. The sight of his face made him feel as though something cold was tightening inside his chest, but Shiro’s expression and his voice were nothing like they had been the night Tatara was attacked.

Shiro smiled, seeming almost carefree. “It was an all-or-nothing gamble, but it worked.”

“Was the chance of success that low? You didn’t tell me that.” The concern in Kuroh’s voice was heavy. “You’re always taking serious risks…”

“Alright, alright, you can scold me later,” Shiro cut in, then turned to Tatara. “We haven’t formally introduced ourselves. I’m Isana Yashiro, the First and Silver King, and this is my clansman, Yatogami Kuroh. And you must be Totsuka Tatara; I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Have you? Ah, sorry, I’ve caused a lot of trouble these past couple of weeks…” Tatara rubbed the back of his head sheepishly and gave a soft chuckle, but there was still unease in his voice.

“Not at all, not at all. It wasn’t your fault; the Colourless King’s power is to affect other Kings, and he attacked you in order to get to the Red King. I’m sorry that you got caught up in all of this. But it’ll be over soon.” He paused, his gaze flickering down to the bloodstain on Tatara’s shirt. “And… I’m sorry for what the Colourless King did to you.”

“It’s not your fault. But… where is he now?” Tatara couldn’t quite control the nerves in his voice.

“I’ve got him confined inside my body. My power as King is that of inviolability, so I’ll keep him contained until he can be… gotten rid of. For good. He won’t hurt anyone else ever again.”

Tatara nodded. “Well, I’m alive at least, it could have been a lot worse, so things turned out okay for the most part. Except…” He turned his gaze up towards Mikoto’s crumbling Sword of Damocles. “He’s on the verge of a Damocles Down, isn’t he? And me getting possessed would only have made it worse… Poor King…” He looked down to hide the tears that were welling in his eyes. His cheerful demeanour faltered; there was only so much his mask could keep hidden before it began to crack. “I’m such an idiot…”

“Hey, it’s alright…” Shiro laid a hand on Tatara’s shoulder. “There’s nothing you could have done to stop this from happening. Any normal clansman would be powerless against the Colourless King. This isn’t your fault.”

“I shouldn’t have come here in the first place. I’m supposed to be in hospital.” Tatara sighed, swallowing back his guilt, aware that indulging it would only waste time. He wiped the tears from his cheek with his sleeve, and a look of resolve kindled in his eyes as he looked up at Shiro. “King said he’d abdicate once the Colourless King is gone. We need to move quickly, before his Weissmann level exceeds its limit.”

Shiro nodded. “Then the Blue King needs to be the one to do it. I’ll go to him now…”

“Are you insane!?” Kuroh cut in. “If you interrupt a battle between Kings, even you won’t emerge unscathed."

“Don’t worry. I’m the Immortal King,” Shiro said with a smile. “Totsuka-san, you should go with Kuroh to safety…”

“No, I’m not leaving,” Tatara insisted.

“You’re already injured. It’s not safe!” Kuroh protested.

“All of this will be for nothing if King goes over his limit anyway. By the looks of it, that might happen even if he isn’t the one who kills the Colourless King. And he might try; he knows it needs to be the Blue King who does it, but the Colourless King has hurt him too many times; he shot at Anna, who’s like our daughter, he almost killed me, and then he _possessed_ me _…_ ” Tatara glanced over his shoulder at the decaying red Sword hovering in the air. “King won’t be able to control himself if he’s confronted with the man who did all that to him, so I’m the only one who can. I can calm him down; I do it all the time. Please. He’s not just my King; I love him more than anything in the world. I can’t leave him.”

Shiro sighed, unable to say no to the sincerity in Tatara’s plea. “Alright. But I can’t promise your safety.”

“It’s even less likely I’ll be safe if I don’t go; if King has a Damocles Down, it’ll wipe out the whole city. I can stop him, I know it.”

Shiro nodded, then turned to Kuroh: “Get yourself somewhere safe.”

“But…”

“Go. You’ll only get in the way at this point.”

Kuroh looked down, seeming almost ashamed, then clicked his tongue and turned on his heel to jog back towards the bridge.

“I’m sorry Kuroh…” Shiro said, more to himself than anything. “Look after Kukuri and Neko.”  He watched his clansman leave with a solemn look for a moment, then looked at Tatara. “Let’s go.”

As the pair turned to the Swords of Damocles, Shiro stumbled forward, almost seeming to gag. A jeering laugh bubbled out of his throat, and his pupils narrowed. He clapped a hand over his mouth and paused for a moment to regain his composure.

“Will you hold still?” he murmured. “I can’t keep you contained inside of me for too long, you know. Even though you’re corrupted, you’re still the Colourless King.”

Tatara felt fear constrict his chest, and he took an unconscious step away from Shiro.

Shiro looked up towards him in surprise, and a look of realisation crossed his face. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Don’t worry. I won’t let him hurt you again. Are you alright?”

Tatara nodded, but his hands were shaking. He took a deep breath, meeting Shiro’s gaze. His eyes were kind and gentle; they weren’t the half-mad ones of the man who had shot him. “I’m okay.”

“And your wound?” Shiro glanced at the blood on Tatara’s shirt once more, frowning.

“It isn’t bleeding too badly, and it doesn’t bother me that much anyway. It won’t kill me, and besides, this is more important. I can get stitched up again once this is all finished.” Tatara gave a carefree smile, managing to show no trace of the sharp, twisting pain in his chest.

Shiro nodded, satisfied, and the pair continued walking.

“So, who exactly are you anyway?” Tatara asked, mostly to take his mind off his discomfort, and the thought of the creature that was no doubt writhing and screaming inside Shiro, desperately trying to free itself.

“My real name is Adolf K. Weissmann- the First and Silver King. I was the one who created the Slates back in Germany during the Second World War, but for a long time since then I’ve been up on an airship by myself, or I was until the Colourless King stole my body the night he attacked you. He was trying to steal my powers of inviolability, but he wasn’t able to, so they transferred into the body he abandoned along with my personality. But until this afternoon, I didn’t remember what happened. I suppose the shock of being kicked out of my own body left me with amnesia, so I had no idea that I had been the Silver King the whole time.” He smiled. “I was really confused as to why all these people with magic powers were chasing me around Shizume City trying to kill me.” 

Tatara nodded slowly. “I think I’ve heard of you. I’ve definitely heard someone mention the First King, floating around up on an airship with no clansmen, but I didn’t know that you created the Slates.”

“Mmm. The grant money I received from the government was supposed to be for developing weapons, but I wanted my research to make people happy… I truly believed it would. But now, I think the power I discovered has brought nothing but loneliness. Despite having many clansmen who follow them, I feel each of the Kings is walking a solitary path.”

“Mm… I noticed that about my King… the Blue King as well, even though I don’t know him as well as I do my own,” Tatara agreed. “They do seem a little bit lonely, and you’re right that ordinary people can never truly understand the burden of a King. I know my King better than anyone else does, and I still don’t understand everything…

“But it’s not true that the Slates have brought us nothing but loneliness. Mikoto has no blood family. My biological parents abandoned me in a park when I was a child, and I was raised by a gambling addict who used to disappear for days at a time. Anna’s parents are dead, and her aunt doesn’t remember who she is. So many of our clansmen are misfits with rough childhoods, but they found a home and a family in Homra. And I’m sure that’s also the case for the Blue clansmen and Sceptre 4. And the way you talk about the friends you’ve made, it sounds like it’s the same for you, too.”

Shiro gave a little nod, and when he didn’t say anything, Tatara continued talking.

“I don’t know where I’d be if it wasn’t for the Slates. Before I met King, I felt like I was just drifting, like I didn’t have a purpose. But then I saw King for the first time, and I was drawn to him, even before he was chosen, because he had the feel of someone who was going to be important. And surely enough, I was there when the Slates chose him. Maybe he wouldn’t have had that feel if it weren’t for the Slates, and I wouldn’t have given him a second look. If I never met him, I never would have met anyone else in Homra, and I couldn’t imagine my life without them. Homra is my whole world, my family. Kusanagi-san, Yata-san, all of them, they’re like brothers to me, and I love Anna like she’s my own daughter; I’d do anything for her. And King…” Tatara looked up at the Sword of Damocles they walked towards, a smile playing across his lips. “King is the love of my life; he’s _everything_ to me. He gives me a reason to get up every morning, he gives me a purpose, and whenever I’m with him, I’m home. I get the feeling that if I’d never met him, I’d still be alone in this world, but I’m not, and I have the Slates to thank for all of that. And if you made the Slates, then I guess that means I have you to thank. So thank you.” He turned to look at Shiro with sincerity in his eyes.

Shiro looked taken aback, but he couldn’t help but smile. “I had no idea that the Slates had given that much to people…”

“Well, in your defence you’ve been living on an airship for the past, what, 70 years?” Tatara replied with a gentle tone.

Shiro chuckled quietly. “I’m glad to hear that they’ve brought so much happiness into your lives. I think maybe they’ll do that for me too; even if I haven’t known them long, Kuroh and Neko are the best friends I’ve had in a very long time…” He trailed off, with a vaguely troubled look on his face, but before Tatara could ask about it, he cleared it away with a little shake of his head, then continued speaking. “And I’m really happy for you and your King. I never imagined that someone would find love because of my creation. I’ll do my best to make sure things turn out in your favour today.”

Tatara smiled. “Don’t sweat it; I know it’ll be okay,” he reassured, though he said it more for his own benefit than Shiro’s; he wasn’t sure he believed himself. He’d never seen Mikoto look as tortured as he had when he’d met Tatara’s eyes and seen the Colourless King staring back at him. Tatara had calmed his King down more times than he could count, but he’d never had to bring him back from the brink of a Damocles Down before, and honestly, he didn’t know whether or not he could do it. But he had to try.

Shiro nodded, unaware of Tatara’s troubled thoughts; he did a good job of hiding his fear. The pair reached the bottom of the steps up to the courtyard where Mikoto and Reisi battled, and the Swords loomed almost directly over them, beautiful and terrifying in the raw power they embodied. Shiro cupped his hands together, then opened them, as if releasing a butterfly that he’d caught between his palms. A tiny star of white light rose from his hands swelling as it ascended, and taking the form of a narrow and elegant blade. When it reached the altitude of the other two swords, it had grown to the same size as them, gleaming silver in the winter sunlight. A fourth sword joined shortly after, this one dark in colour, with a thick blade and curved cross guards.

Shiro’s gaze lowered from the spectacle above their heads to look at Tatara.

“Come on; let’s finish this.”


	20. Part 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of your patience and support in waiting for this chapter, and thank you for all the good luck wishes with my exams! They're all finished now, so hopefully I can get back to writing more often. From now on, I'm going to start posting chapters on Saturday instead of Tuesday, cause I'll be out of the country two of the next three Tuesdays and I don't want the schedule to get too messy. 
> 
> This chapter can also be found on [Tumblr](http://mistleto-3.tumblr.com/post/146066147909/breathing-part-20)
> 
> _Redrafted 20/07/2017_

Reisi tackled Mikoto once more, hauling him out of the woods and into the courtyard they had been fighting in before; without the trees in the way, he could keep a closer eye on his opponent, and the further Mikoto was from the Colourless King, the better. The pair sprang apart, sliding backwards across the snow and squaring up to one another again. The smirk Mikoto had worn while they were fighting earlier had vanished the moment he’d learned what had happened to Tatara, and it had been replaced by a look of grim resignation.

Shiro and Tatara approached behind the treeline, careful to stay in the shadows as they crept towards the fighting Kings. The pair exchanged a resolute look; neither of them had words that seemed fitting for a moment like this. Tatara hid his pain well, and not a whisper of the throbbing in his ribcage reached his eyes as they met Shiro’s one last time. Shiro gave a brief nod, and Tatara returned it, then a faint glow began to radiate from his skin, enveloping him in a clean silver light. As it got brighter, Shiro rose off the ground, levitating a few inches off the floor before shooting upwards, past the canopy and out of sight.

Mikoto drew his fist back, igniting it with his aura, and then lunged forward at Reisi, but a streak of white light that flashed between them stopped them in their tracks, plunging out of the sky and colliding with the snow like a meteorite. As the light that cocooned Shiro’s body dimmed, the other Kings could see him trembling with the effort of keeping the Colourless King contained within him.

Shiro turned to Mikoto, who watched him from beneath furrowed brows with a look of suspicion in his eyes.

“Totsuka-san is okay,” Shiro promised him, then turned to Reisi. “This is the guy you’re looking for.”

Shiro’s pupils contracted suddenly, and he gritted his teeth, trying to bite back the Colourless King’s words as they burst past his lips.

“Hey! What are you doing!” His body twitched, almost writhing as the Colourless King fought for control. “Stop! Stop it! Stop that!”

Shiro doubled over, swallowing back the Colourless King’s desperate cries, then he looked up at Reisi. Sweat dripped from his face, despite the winter chill. When he spoke, he was breathless with the effort of keeping the Colourless King contained. “Hurry... Only a King can kill another King.”

“There’s more than one King here,” Mikoto pointed out, his voice low, and he raised his fist once more.

“Suoh!” Reisi warned.

Mikoto ignored him, a hungry smirk spreading across his lips, more a grimace than a smile. The sight of Shiro’s face caused him physical pain; the memory of the video, the crack of the gunshot that had almost killed Tatara, the sound of his body hitting the floor as the Colourless King laughed… seeing the shooter in person, so close he could have touched him, dredged up all of that pain and threw it into the forefront of Mikoto’s mind, and something broke inside him. The dam he’d built to stop up all of his grief in Tatara’s absence crumbled, releasing a torrent of molten fire into his veins. The sheer force of it was too much to contain inside his body; it scorched and tore at his insides, hollering for blood.

“Thanks for bringing him here; I appreciate it.” His eyes burned with a look of feverish bloodlust, and his charred hands ignited.

“Stop it Suoh! Don’t do it!” Reisi cried, raising his sword to try and get to the Colourless King first, but the energy that erupted out of Mikoto’s body buffeted him backwards. Scarlet flames engulfed his skin, imbued with all the ferocity of a wild beast that had been tortured and tormented until it could do nothing else but close its jaws around the throat of its persecutor. Mikoto bared his teeth and raised his arms, a feral roar tearing out of his throat as the flames grew ever hotter. He almost didn’t hear Tatara behind him, screaming:

“ _King, stop!”_

Mikoto’s head snapped around towards the source of the sound. He half-believed that he had imagined the voice, but he wanted so badly for it to be real that he had to check, even if nothing would terrify him more than Tatara being here, in the line of fire.

But there he was, sprinting towards Mikoto despite the fatigue that was etched into the shadows under his eyes and into the trembling of his limbs. With every step, he whimpered, and fresh crimson blood streamed down his chest from his wound. The flow had only just begun to slow from when the Colourless King had reopened the wound, and now Tatara tore it open further as he threw himself towards his King. He staggered into Mikoto’s arms, heedless of the fire that engulfed his body, and Mikoto could do nothing but drop his fighting stance to catch him.

The flames were snuffed out with a hiss the moment Tatara’s arms wound their way around his waist. As Tatara fell into Mikoto’s embrace, a yelp of pain escaped his lips, and his blood dripped onto his lover’s shirt. He gripped the back of Mikoto’s jacket and lifted his head to look him in the face, and for the first time in his life, Tatara saw fear in his King’s eyes. They were wide with terror at the sight of the blood pouring down Tatara’s front, at the sight of him here at all, beneath the juddering tip of his Sword of Damocles. Tatara could feel Mikoto’s arms shaking as he knelt down to set his lover on the ground, still holding him tightly. His skin burned as though he was on his death bed with fever; the flames inside him still raged just below the surface, and the tension in his jaw as he gritted his teeth betrayed the agony it caused him to keep them contained.

Unable to look at Tatara any longer, unable to bear the sight of his face, drawn and ashen and smeared in blood, Mikoto looked up. His Sword trembled above him as though from the sheer effort of holding itself in the air, and flakes of rust crumbled away from it to rain down on them like ash. Energy crackled around it, little streaks of lightning arcing through the air between the blade and the hilt, red as arterial blood. It appeared as though a stiff wind would be enough to send it plummeting down.

Shiro cackled behind them, though his voice was marred by the poisonous madness of the Colourless King. Mikoto turned to face the sound, and he almost snarled at the sight of Shiro’s face, his pupils narrowed and his lips split by an uncanny grin. Reisi glanced at Mikoto, his eyes narrowing as he saw his friend tense, like a beast ready to strike, and his grip on his sword tightened. He kept his eyes fixed on Mikoto as Shiro coughed suddenly, spluttering and choking back the Colourless King’s laughter, trembling with the effort of suppressing him once more.

Tatara tightened his grip on Mikoto’s coat, tugging on the fabric to draw his attention away from the Colourless King. Mikoto tore his gaze away to look down at him, his gaze softening at the imploring look on Tatara’s face.

“King, please. Your powers are meant to protect.” His voice was weak, and there was only so much of his pain he could keep out of it.

Reisi didn’t wait for Mikoto to respond. Without ceremony, he leapt forward, his sword glowing with bright sapphire light as he plunged the blade between Shiro’s ribs.

The Silver King’s eyes widened at the pain, and he slumped forward against Reisi’s shoulder, his breath catching in his throat as his blood poured onto the snow. Reisi gritted his teeth as his aura burst out of Shiro’s back and enveloped the pair of them, so blindingly bright that it obscured the silhouettes of both Kings. The sheer power of the explosion shook the ground. From its epicentre burst a column of blue light that towered upwards and pierced through the blanket of clouds, illuminating them from above with a preternatural azure glow. The Silver and Colourless Swords of Damocles began to disintegrate under the radiating blue light, and they crumbled apart into little flecks of light, like fireflies, that blew away like smoke in the wind. The Red and Blue Swords remained, hanging in the air like sentinels either side of the pillar of light, but the former still seemed to be trembling in the breeze, a hair’s breadth from toppling out of the sky.

Mikoto pulled Tatara in close against him, shielding him from the blast with his own body. Tatara had his eyes screwed shut and his face buried in his King’s shoulder as the shockwaves battered his eardrums and shook the very air in his lungs.

In a few seconds, it was over. The dust cleared, leaving Reisi standing beside a deep crater in the cobblestones. There was no sign of Shiro’s body, no evidence that he’d ever even existed, except the bright scarlet blood smeared down the blade of Reisi’s sword and splattered on his hands. He stood motionless for a moment, as though collecting himself, then turned towards his friend, who still crouched facing away from him, cradling his lover in his arms.

With what appeared to be a great effort, Tatara prized open his eyelids to look up at Mikoto’s face. Mikoto seemed completely unruffled by the explosion that had just occurred barely 20 feet away from him; his gaze was focussed raptly on Tatara, with the same look of barely-suppressed fear carved into the creases around his eyes. Tatara glanced between his face and the Sword of Damocles above his head that still quivered in the air like a plucked bowstring.

“Sorry.” Mikoto’s voice was low and gruff.

Despite himself, Tatara smiled. “Don’t sweat it; didn’t I tell you it’d all work out in the end?” With a shaking hand, he reached up to cup Mikoto’s cheek, and pulled his head down towards him to brush their lips together. At the tender kiss, Mikoto’s Sword finally stilled in the air.

They broke apart after a brief moment, and Mikoto pressed his forehead against Tatara’s, needing a moment to confirm that this was all real, that Tatara was there, alive, and safe in his arms. He indulged himself for a few seconds, then let out a barely audible sigh before getting to his feet and lifting Tatara into his arms.

“Let’s get you back to the hospital.”

“King?” Tatara mumbled.

“Mm?”

“I love you.”

Mikoto kissed him on the top of the head, but before he had a chance to respond, the exhaustion had claimed Tatara. His head drooped forward to rest against Mikoto’s chest, and the sound of his heartbeat soothed the anxiety that had been frying Tatara’s nerves. As the adrenaline subsided, the fatigue and pain and blood loss caught up with him all at once in an overwhelming tide that made his vision blur at the edges. Gladly, he closed his eyes and fell asleep, safe in the warmth of his King’s arms.


	21. Part 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter can also be found on [Tumblr](http://mikototsu-trash.tumblr.com/post/146466177783/breathing-part-21)
> 
> _Redrafted 20/07/2017_

Tatara awoke in a bed to the sound of a door opening. He kept his eyes closed, but by the cloying stench of antiseptic and the slight scratchiness of the sheets, he could tell he was in a hospital; he’d lost count of how many times he’d ended up in one of these beds, so by now he knew the place well. He could feel Mikoto’s warm fingers twined with his own and smell the cigarette smoke on his clothes, and the familiarity of his lover’s company brought him comfort. After the agony and anxiety of the past few days, after constantly craving to be beside him, Tatara savoured his presence; there had been moments when he feared he’d never see Mikoto again, and he hadn’t realised how heavily that fear had weighed on him until he noticed how much easier it was to breathe now they were together again.

Tatara heard the door close, and the sharp click of heels against the tile floor.

“How is he?” The voice belonged to Reisi. There was a quiet ruffling sound and the sigh of a cushion as he took a seat.

“He’ll make a full recovery, provided he doesn’t do anything stupid.” Mikoto’s voice was gruff, and he sounded as though he hadn’t slept.

“And you, are you okay?” The question was loaded, and it was clear from Reisi’s heavy tone that he was asking not about Mikoto, but about his Weissmann level.

“Mm,” Mikoto confirmed.

“And you’re abdicating?”

“Once Totsuka’s better. When he’s discharged, I’ll do it.”

“You’ll wait that long?” Reisi asked, his tone disapproving.

“Mm,” was all Mikoto said in response. Tatara had a sneaking suspicion that Mikoto wanted to wait until they could both go home so he didn’t have to spend his first night without his powers alone.

“Well, I’ve made the Gold King aware of your intentions; he’ll be expecting your visit and you’ll be allowed to enter Mihashira Tower unharrassed.”

Mikoto merely grunted his acknowledgement.

“Are you okay?” Reisi asked again, though this time his voice had softened, this time clearly asking about the welfare of his friend.

“Mm. Just wanna get it over and done with.”

“I see. I thought you’d be dreading it.”

“What’s there to dread? Besides, it sucks being just about to let all that power out and then getting stopped like that; it’s like getting blue-balled.” There was no mirth in his voice as he made the joke.

 _That’s just like King, to make light of his pain._ Tatara guessed that, under his nonchalance, Mikoto must have been in agony. Hovering just below the brink of his Weissmann level, with all that power battering on his ribcage yet being unable to let it out, unable to so much as light a cigarette for fear it might trigger a Damocles Down… it sounded like torture.

Reisi ignored Mikoto’s quip.  “Do you want me to come with you?” he offered.

“Nah.”

“Very well. You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

Mikoto made a soft noise in the back of his throat, acknowledging the offer, and then was quiet for a moment, before finally speaking: “I feel like I should thank you for doing the dirty work, but I don’t really want to.”

“I understand that you wanted revenge, but you know why I couldn’t let you take it. For one, I promised Totsuka-san I’d do my utmost to ensure you returned to him, and you did. I understand that revenge would have been cathartic to you, but ultimately catharsis won’t do you much good if you’re dead. Besides, it was always my duty to protect this city and its inhabitants.”

“It wasn’t though. Neither of us signed up for this.”

“No, we didn’t, but I was the only one with the power to prevent a Damocles Down from destroying Shizume City, therefore I considered it my duty.”

Mikoto let out a single, low, humourless chuckle. “That’s where we differ.”

“Perhaps not as much as you think.”

“Hmm?”

“You also used your powers to do what was right, at least most of the time. You used them to protect the innocent, and I must admit that, even if I cannot condone your methods. It’s like he said,” Tatara heard fabric rustle, as though Reisi was gesturing to something, “’your powers are meant to protect,’ and you have used them to do so.”

Mikoto clicked his tongue. “Sounds weird when you say it. Besides, what’s the point in saying all this sentimental stuff when soon enough I won’t have ‘em anymore?”

“Because you’re still protecting people by giving them up. A good King knows his limits, and you’re demonstrating now that you know yours.”

“’A good King,’ huh?” there was an air of irony in Mikoto’s voice.

“You were a good King, Suoh. Considering that you never wanted this, you still went above and beyond for your clansmen, you defended those who couldn’t defend themselves, you dealt with thugs and miscreants who sought to do harm to innocent people, even though it was no business of yours. There are people alive today who perhaps would not be if it weren’t for you. I would call that being a good King.”

Mikoto gave another soft, almost derisive laugh, unconvinced.

“Giving up now doesn’t mean you’ve failed. The Red aura is a very different beast to any of the others, and that you haven’t had a Damocles Down is something to be proud of.”

“I didn’t stop myself having a Damocles Down; Totsuka did.”

“You still stopped, and now you’re taking action to prevent a situation like that from ever happening again. You’re doing a damn sight better than the last Red King.”

Mikoto grunted, evidently tired of arguing his case. It was unclear whether or not Reisi’s words had given him any comfort.

There was a lull in the conversation after that, and Tatara decided the time was right to show that he was awake. His eyes fluttered open, and he stretched slowly, careful not to pull on the wound on his chest. He felt Mikoto’s grip tighten on his hand.

“Totsuka-san, how are you feeling?” Reisi’s tone was polite.

“Much better, thank you. Though that might just be the pain meds talking,” Tatara replied with a smile.

“That’s good to hear.” Reisi rose to his feet. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.”

“Before you go,” Tatara cut in, “thank you for everything you did for us over the past couple of weeks. Things would have played out very differently if you weren’t fighting our corner, and you sacrificed a lot for us. So thank you.”

Beside him, Mikoto gave a small, stiff nod in concurrence.

Reisi seemed almost taken aback, even if the expression only flickered across his face for a brief moment before it was smoothed over by a courteous smile. “I merely did my duty,” he repeated dismissively.

“I’d say you did more than that, but either way, thank you,” Tatara insisted

Reisi nodded in acknowledgement. “I wish you a speedy recovery. And Suoh, let me know when it’s done.”

Mikoto gave a quick nod of acknowledgement, and Reisi took his leave.

The moment the door closed behind him, Tatara reached for Mikoto and pulled him in to kiss him deeply, clinging to the fabric of his shirt as if he feared he’d die if he let go. The kiss was fraught with the tension of the last few days, and with the fear that had built up in both of them that they might never get the chance to kiss again. Mikoto tightened his embrace around his lover when he felt him shaking, cradling him close but handling him incredibly gently, as though he was scared the man would crumple like paper in his arms.

It was a long moment before the kiss broke, and Tatara buried his face in Mikoto’s shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of his skin.

“Are you okay?” Tatara murmured.

“Mm; you’re safe.”

“And everyone else, are they all alright? Is Anna okay?”

“They’re fine. Nobody was hurt too bad. Kusanagi was here this morning; he said he’d come back once you woke up.”

“How long have I been out?”

“A day- Colourless King died yesterday.”

Tatara nodded slowly. “And what now? When are you going to abdicate?”

“When you get discharged.”

“I want to come with you,” Tatara said firmly.

“You shouldn’t travel unless you need to.”

“I’ll go in a wheelchair if I have to, and I won’t be in the room if you don’t want me there, I just... I was there when you were chosen by the Slate and given those powers- I should be there when you give them back. Kusanagi-san, too. I know this is tough for you- let us help.”

Mikoto sighed and refrained from rebutting him, which Tatara took as a concession. He leaned up to kiss Mikoto’s cheek, then lay back down on the bed.

“You’re going straight back home after.”

“That’s fine,” Tatara replied with a smile, squeezing Mikoto’s hand once more.

“You never should have left the hospital in the first place. You could have died.” Mikoto’s voice was deadpan, but Tatara could tell just how worried he had been.

His face fell and his gaze dropped to fix on the sheets, seeming abashed. He was aware of how much trouble his presence on Ashinaka island had caused; the news that the Colourless King had possessed him must have destroyed Mikoto, and the horrified look on his King’s face when he’d seen Tatara running right into ground zero with blood pouring down his front was burned into his mind.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Still, I had to go to you… it wasn’t that I didn’t trust you, but it seemed like the Colourless King was actively trying to push your buttons; it’s almost like he wanted you to have a Damocles Down and he was trying to provoke you by attacking Anna and I. He hurt you, King, and I needed to be there for you because there’s only so much hurt one person can take before they snap, especially a King. The Red aura has so much power to do good, but in return, it’s sometimes too much power for any one man to control on his own, especially a man who was in as much pain as you were yesterday. That’s what I’m here for; that’s my job. I’m the stopper- I help you out when it’s too much for one person on their own. That’s why I had to be there- if you were ever going to struggle with the weight of the Red crown all by yourself, it was going to be during that raid on Ashinaka, and I had to be close by in case you needed me.”

Mikoto gripped his hand tightly. “You’re not just a stopper.” He almost snapped the words.

Tatara tilted his head in confusion, and Mikoto screwed his eyes shut briefly, a silent apology for the sharp tone of his voice. When he opened them again, he explained what he meant, his voice low and quiet, evidently struggling to express his feelings openly:

“When my powers are gone, I won’t need a stopper any more. Doesn’t mean I’ll stop loving you.”

Tatara threw his arms around Mikoto’s shoulders, barely seeming to care about the throb of pain that the sudden movement caused. Tears blurred his vision and he blinked them away as he buried his face against Mikoto’s chest.

“I love you so much…” he whispered, his voice wavering with emotion.

Mikoto kissed the top of his head. “I love you too.”


	22. Part 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter can also be found on [Tumblr](http://mistleto-3.tumblr.com/post/146776660769/breathing-part-22)

It was New Year’s Eve when Tatara was finally discharged from the hospital, and by that point he’d been confined to his room on the ward for almost two weeks. Despite knowing that it was probably for the best, he was beginning to go stir-crazy, so after much pleading he’d been released on the condition that he remain on strict bedrest for the next few days. For the entirety of the stint in hospital, it had been almost impossible to get Mikoto to leave his side- he had taken to sleeping in the chair beside Tatara’s bed, holding his hand. The nurses had tried to send him home when visiting hours had ended the first day, but the dark glower they’d received for their troubles had prevented them from trying again.

Christmas had been a quiet affair. Tatara usually adored the holiday, and it was Anna’s favourite time of year, mostly due to the excess of glittering red decorations that ornamented the city, however the celebrations had been dampened this time by the less-than-festive setting and by the events of the last couple of weeks. Tatara usually insisted on doing something romantic on Christmas Eve with Mikoto (and Mikoto always allowed him to- even though lovey-dovey stuff wasn’t really his cup of tea, he still couldn’t resist indulging Tatara’s puppy eyes), but this year, he’d been told he wasn’t well enough to leave the hospital, so the best approximation of a romantic evening they could organise was sweet-talking the nurses into allowing them to sneak in takeout food. The time to each other had been greatly appreciated, but Tatara would much rather have been at a romantic restaurant, wearing something a bit sexier than a hospital gown.

Christmas day was no less disappointing- it wasn’t quite the same when Tatara couldn’t creep out of bed before first light to wake Anna to open their presents. Still, even considering the circumstances, Homra had endeavoured to make this Christmas special for their princess. She deserved at least one good day after everything she'd been through over the past few weeks. So there had been more sweet-talking of the nurses (bribery with baked goods may or may not have been involved), and Rikio, Misaki, and Tatara were given the go-ahead to adorn Tatara’s room in the hospital with decorations. Scarlet tinsel covered every available surface, and a small plastic tree had been set up in the corner of the room and festooned with yet more tinsel. Anna and Mikoto had opened their presents there that morning, and the rest of Homra filtered in and out throughout the day to deliver their well wishes. Although the most was made of the unfavourable situation, it was hard to keep up a brave face when, beneath the mask of Christmas decorations, they were still spending the holiday confined within the sterile white walls of a hospital room. Still, Tatara was grateful that he got to see this Christmas at all- there had been too many moments over the past few weeks in which he’d feared he wouldn't.

When New Year’s Eve finally rolled around, Izumo and Anna arrived at the hospital barely an hour after they’d received the news that Tatara was finally to be discharged. They entered his room to find him sitting on the bed in his regular clothes, chattering away enthusiastically about some plans he had for once he was better while Mikoto listened quietly, holding his hand. Anna hurried forward and climbed onto Tatara’s bed, perching on the edge of the mattress beside him.

“Anna,” Tatara greeted her with a grin, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear affectionately. “How are you doing?”

The girl gave a nod to indicate that she was okay, and while Tatara’s attention was on her, Izumo had padded over to the side of his bed and gave him a gentle thump on the top of the head with his fist.

Tatara rubbed his head with the look of a kicked puppy about him. “Kusanagi-san!”

“This'd better be the last time we have to take ya home from the hospital. Ya gave us quite the fright this time.” Izumo gave him a stern look.

“Sorry, sorry,” Tatara replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Well, everything worked out alright in the end, didn’t it?”

Izumo sighed in exasperation, rolling his eyes at his friend’s reckless, happy-go-lucky nature, then he turned to Mikoto.

“Ready to go?”

Mikoto grunted his affirmation, and Izumo went looking for a nurse, who brought a wheelchair for Tatara. Mikoto helped him into it, wanting to make sure he exerted himself as little as possible, while Tatara protested weakly against all the fuss. Once he was safely in the chair, Izumo wheeled Tatara out of the room with Mikoto and Anna walking either side of him.

The taxi ride to Mihashira tower felt as though it dragged on for hours. The four of them were quiet the entire time; none of them had words that seemed fitting. Anna clung onto Mikoto’s sleeve with one hand, and with the other she fiddled absently with a glass bead.

When they arrived, dusk had almost completely fallen. The sky above their heads had darkened to a deep, inky blue, and on the horizon it was stained with streaks of brilliant red and gold as the sun sank behind the jagged horizon. The glass walls of the tower gleamed with the coloured light of the sunset.

Izumo spoke in hushed tones as he paid the driver while Mikoto lifted Tatara’s wheelchair out of the car, then carried it up the steps towards the grand main entrance of the Gold King’s castle. As they stepped into the building, the golden-masked faces of the Rabbits guarding the entrance swivelled to fix on them. But aside from watching the movements of the Reds as they crossed the lobby towards the elevators, the guards were otherwise still, allowing the outsiders to pass. Their footsteps echoed almost unnaturally loudly off the polished black tiles.

During the drawn-out elevator ride to the top of the towering building, it felt as though a pressure was building on the shoulders of all four of them, a kind of quiet anxiety, like the kind one might feel as they were being wheeled down to surgery. Realistically, they knew that what was to come would make things better in the long run, but there was always a nagging doubt gnawing away in the bottom of their stomach that something might go wrong, and even if everything went smoothly, things would change irrevocably as a result.

They exited the elevator into a lavish hallway, walled with crimson tiles. The ceiling dripped with gold chandeliers, and was held up by thick columns that would have seemed more much less out-of-place in a Renaissance palace than they did in a modern glass-and-steel tower in the heart of a 21st century metropolis. The group stopped in the hallway, just outside a set of sliding doors decorated with intricate paintings, and Mikoto turned to face his small, makeshift family, his expression blank. A sort of anxious anticipation saturated the air.

Izumo was the first to make a move. He clapped a hand on Mikoto’s shoulder, offering him a comforting smile, then said: “You were the best King we could have asked for.”

Mikoto gave a tiny, stiff nod as Izumo’s hand dropped, then he turned to Tatara, who wore his usual carefree smile. He reached up, and Mikoto obediently allowed Tatara to pull him down by his shirt for a brief kiss.

“Don’t sweat it, it’ll all work out okay,” he said with confidence.

Mikoto pressed a kiss to his forehead in response, then finally knelt before Anna, so that their faces were level. Anna threw her arms around his shoulders, clinging to him fiercely, and Mikoto pressed the girl close to him, murmuring: “I’m sorry, Anna. I won’t be able to show you that beautiful red anymore.” He could feel her small frame shaking as he drew away and stood up, then turned around and disappeared through the doors into the Slates’ chamber without another word.

If possible, this room was even more grandiose than the corridor that led to it; the ceiling was several stories high, and the floor was made entirely of shining glass tiles with the Dresden Slates enclosed beneath them, like an artefact in a museum display case. More of the ornate paintings that had adorned the door were emblazoned on the walls. The room had a consecrated feel to it, like some grand, hushed cathedral, and it was empty aside from a tall, aged man who stood in its centre, wearing black and gold robes. The Gold King, Kokujouji Daikaku.

As Mikoto strode towards him, he spoke in a voice that resonated with authority: “A King has come to the Slate. I ask of thee, art thou here to fight, or to talk.”

“You know why I’m here,” Mikoto replied simply.

“And you’re sure of your decision?”

“Mm,” he confirmed.

Daikaku gave a brief nod, then took a few steps backwards until he no longer stood directly over the Slate, and he gestured towards the great stone slab. Mikoto kept walking forwards, slowly, as though on a funeral procession, until he stood in the centre of the room with the Slate beneath his feet.

“Repeat after me:” Daikaku began. “I, the Third and Red King Suoh Mikoto,”

“I, the Third and Red King Suoh Mikoto,”

“Do hereby irrevocably renounce my throne, my powers, and my kingdom.”

“Do hereby irrevocably renounce my throne, my powers, and my kingdom.” his voice was low, almost bored, but every muscle in his body was wound taut. As much as he had never wanted this crown, as much as the powers he was imbued with frightened him and caused him agony, he was nervous. His life was his clan, and a quiet fear coiled in his stomach at the thought of what would happen once he was no longer their King.

With that simple, unceremonious phrase, the Slate began to glow; the trenches carved into its surface radiated a brilliant red light, as though liquid fire had been poured into them. The Red Sword of Damocles materialised above Mikoto’s head, and his eyes widened as all of a sudden, a fierce, burning agony blazed in every cell of his body as the powers within him flared viciously, resisting the sudden force tearing them from their host. He gritted his teeth, swallowing back the cry of pain that tried to erupt from his throat. He could feel the powers trickling out of him, like fuel from a burst pipe, and with every passing second the crimson glow emanating from the Slate brightened.

After a long, torturous moment, the agony began to recede from his fingertips, draining out of his extremities, out of his arms and legs, until it was concentrated in his torso, and then just his chest. He threw his head backwards, his spine arching and his fingers curling into fists at the pain that only grew more unbearable as it focussed on an ever smaller space behind his ribs. Above him, he saw his Sword of Damocles beginning to dematerialise, crumbling into little red cinders that fluttered down around him like snow until there was nothing left of it.

The pain ceased suddenly, and Mikoto gasped for air; the pain had been so intense that he couldn't draw breath past his lips. The Slate flashed briefly before the light it emitted dimmed and finally went out, and the glowing dust of his Sword faded and vanished around his feet.  Mikoto felt drained, empty, as though he’d just run a marathon and it had taken every ounce of energy in his body to force himself over the finish line. His throat was dry, and his limbs seemed heavier somehow. He felt cold. But for the first time since he had been chosen by the Slates more than half a decade ago, he wasn’t in any pain.

The clansmen waiting outside for him felt the auras within them falter as their King stepped down, and they exchanged loaded glances. By this point, Anna was sitting on Tatara’s knee, as Izumo stood solemnly beside them, his hand on his friend’s shoulder. They were quiet as the reality of the situation began to sink in. Even though nobody had died, it felt like a time of mourning, a time to grieve for how things used to be before they embraced the inevitable change that was to come.

Suddenly, Anna froze, her body stiffening. Izumo didn’t seem to have noticed; the girl had barely moved since Mikoto had entered the chamber of the Slate, but Tatara felt her tense. He leaned forward to look at her over her shoulder, raising his eyebrow in a silent inquiry if she was okay. She chewed her lip and gave a little nod, then glanced at Izumo. Tatara understood- she would tell him later, when they were alone.

A noise outside caught their attention, and the three red clansmen turned their heads in unison towards the window. Anna slipped off Tatara’s knee and hurried over, pressing her hands against the glass and peering out. A crowd had gathered on the street below, all of them young men, and they were shouting, stamping, punching the air with their fists.

_“No blood! No bone! No ash! No blood! No bone! No ash!”_

From the crowd, glowing specks of red light began to rise, like crimson fireflies, past the window that Anna looked out of and up into the now-dark sky to join the stars. She stared at them, open-mouthed and wide-eyed with joy as Izumo wheeled Tatara over to the window and the three of them watched with smiles on their faces. Homra had arrived to support their King one final time.

“A beautiful red…” Anna whispered.

Inside the chamber of the Slates, the glimmer of crimson outside the window caught Mikoto’s eye, and the sound of chanting drifted in. He turned his head to watch for a moment, then let out a single, low chuckle, almost in surprise.

Daikaku followed his gaze. “Even though you have given up your powers, it takes a particular kind of person to be a King, and you will always be that person to your clansmen.”

Mikoto shrugged and turned back to face the Gold King. “Is that everything?”

“Good luck,” Daikaku said simply, and Mikoto nodded in acknowledgement, then slipped his hands into his pockets and turned to leave the room, feeling lighter than he had when he’d entered.

When the doors slid open, the three clansmen’s heads snapped around to face Mikoto.

“You alright?” Izumo asked, turning Tatara’s wheelchair around and pushing it over to meet him as he strolled leisurely out of the chamber.

“Fine,” Mikoto replied.

“How was it?” Tatara asked.

“Anticlimactic.” And it was- all those years of being a King, all of that power, all of that pain, up in smoke in a few short minutes with very little ceremony. Perhaps if more had been made of his abdication, it would be easier to accept that it had actually happened. But it almost felt too easy- there was no closure, no real sense of finality. It didn’t seem real, except from the conspicuousness of the feeling of… almost emptiness that almost consumed Mikoto without all of that power hammering on his ribcage. He almost felt as though he was numb- he was so used to the constant, quiet burning in his chest that now it’d been snuffed out, it sort of seemed like something was wrong, something was amiss. As much as he resented it at times, the Red aura had become a part of Mikoto, and now it was gone, he felt hollow. It would take a while to get used to its absence.

Tatara and Anna were both staring at Mikoto, and he raised an eyebrow at the pair of them.

“You always had this air of seeming important, ever since we were teenagers, and it hasn’t gone away,” Tatara explained with a smile.

Mikoto rolled his eyes, then turned to Anna, who seemed fascinated. “What’s up with you?”

“I’ve never seen Mikoto properly before, without all the red. Mikoto has red hair,” she observed, the shadow of a smile ghosting across her lips.

Mikoto chuckled quietly, laying his palm on her head for a moment in a brief show of affection before gesturing to the elevator with a nod of his head. “Let’s go.”

The four of them exited the building together to the waiting throng of Red clansmen, who cheered as Mikoto descended the steps towards them, half-carrying Tatara’s wheelchair down to the pavement. Mikoto glanced around at them, appearing vaguely dazed, and Tatara smiled and urged: “Go on.”

Mikoto looked down at him and gave a quick nod, then left Tatara by the steps with Anna so he wouldn’t be jostled by the crowd and stepped forward to accept the well-wishes of his clansmen, though he wasn’t entirely sure if he could call them that anymore. Anna perched herself on Tatara’s knee once more as Izumo stepped out of earshot of the rabble to call them a cab home. Tatara leaned forward over her shoulder to look at her face.

“What did you see, earlier?” he asked quietly.

“I had a feeling… What I said before isn’t true anymore, now Mikoto’s powers are gone.”

“Which thing that you said?”

“That you won’t live very long. Now… I feel like you and Mikoto will grow old together.”

Tatara was stunned into speechlessness, overwhelmed by a sudden deluge of emotion. Ever since he’d first realised he was in love with Mikoto, he had been forced to accept that there was no future for them, that eventually things would come to an end. The plans that regular couples had, to get a place together, to marry, to have children and watch them grow up… they were out of Tatara’s reach, and existed only in bittersweet daydreams. But he had grown used to the idea, and had decided simply to make the most of the time he had with Mikoto. He didn’t know if it would be a few months or a few years, but he had resigned himself to the inevitable truth that whatever time they would spend together would never be enough.

_Now we have all the time in the world._

The revelation hit him like a tsunami, knocking the wind out of him. Tears of joy stung his eyes as the possibilities raced through his head, faster than he could keep track of them. Vivid mental images that he had spent so long suppressing burst into the forefront of his mind: standing at an altar beside Mikoto as they exchanged rings, their first night in their own apartment, seeing Mikoto cradling a baby against his chest, sitting beside him in a rocking chair, both of them old and grey…

He flung his arms around Anna and hugged her tightly. Anna leaned into his embrace, a faint smile on her lips.

_I get to see her grow up._

A sob hitched in his throat. It was a long moment before he mustered the strength to release her; the inundation of emotion had almost exhausted him. He sniffled quietly, dabbing away the tears from beneath his eyes with the cuffs of his sleeves, then he beamed at Anna as he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Thank you, Anna.” His voice wavered as he spoke, then he kissed her on the forehead.

Anna closed her eyes peacefully, a contented smile on her face as she leaned against Tatara, though she opened them again at the sound of approaching footsteps. The pair of them turned to see Reisi walking towards them.

“Totsuka-san, Anna-chan,” he greeted them, giving a polite bow of his head.

“Munakata-san… what are you doing here?”

“Kusanagi-san let me know that today was going to be the day, and I felt the need to be here,” he explained.

Tatara nodded, then Reisi changed the subject.

“How is your recovery progressing?”

“Better than expected. I’m going home after this, but I’m still on bed rest,” Tatara explained.

“That’s good to hear. And Suoh? How is he doing?”

“He seems fine. It was all very quick, so it might take him a while to process it, but I think it’s a weight off his shoulders.”

Reisi nodded, seeming content.

“Oh, and remember what I said before, in the hospital before the Ashinaka incident? About what would happen to me if I stayed by his side?”

Reisi’s expression darkened almost imperceptibly. “Yes…”

“You don’t have to worry about that any more. Things have changed.”

Reisi glanced between Tatara and Anna, then smiled. “That’s good to hear.”

By now, Mikoto had spotted the Blue King over the heads of the crowd, and was making his way over. He lay his hand on Tatara’s shoulder once he arrived, and looked up at Reisi. “What d’ya want?”

“Merely checking in to see things had gone smoothly. Besides, it would feel improper if I didn’t show my face on an occasion like this.”

“Not much of an occasion,” Mikoto commented.

“Very little is an occasion to you, nevertheless it’s still an important day,” Reisi observed, and Mikoto chuckled in acquiescence.

“’M afraid you missed the party. We’re heading home soon; this one is supposed to be on bedrest,” Mikoto said, patting Tatara on the shoulder gently.

“That’s fine, from what I understand there was little to see.” Reisi bowed politely. “I wish you a speedy recovery,” he said to Tatara, then turned to the three of them, “and happy new year to all of you.”

“You too,” Tatara replied with a smile.

Izumo was just approaching as Reisi turned to leave, and the pair nodded an acknowledgement at each other as they passed. “Cab’s almost here,” he said.

“Good," Tatara looked up at Mikoto as he spoke, eager to finally sleep in their own bed after all this time. "Let's go home."


	23. Part 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaa I can't believe this is finally finished! Thank you so much for all your support and kind words throughout this fic- every sweet comment has absolutely made my day to read, and I appreciate them more than I could ever express. I hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> This chapter can also be found on [Tumblr](http://mistleto-3.tumblr.com/post/147209929644/breathing-part-23-finale)
> 
> _Redrafted 23/07/2017_

The cab dropped Mikoto, Tatara, and Anna off at Homra bar, and at the sight of his home, Tatara felt a wash of relief. Mikoto helped him out of his wheelchair up the stairs into the building, then sat him on one of the couches in the bar, which Izumo had closed for them despite that New Years was usually one of the busiest nights of the year. Anna paused to admire the kadomatsu that Izumo had set up by the entrance as she followed them inside, and Tatara thought it a shame that the bar had been decorated for the occasion but only the three of them would see it. Still, he was grateful. He didn’t have the energy for festivities, and he imagined Mikoto would prefer the solitude on a day like this.

Anna quickly excused herself and headed upstairs to bed, despite the early hour. Neither Tatara nor Mikoto could blame her for it; the past few weeks had been exhausting for all of them, and the strain had long begun to show on Anna’s visage. She was paler than usual, and her face was sallow, with deep shadows beneath her eyes. Once she’d vanished into the apartment upstairs, Mikoto strolled over to the bar and knelt behind it, examining the bottles stocked in the fridge there, then rose to his feet holding a bottle of champagne. He fired the cork across the room, and smirked faintly as Tatara giggled. Then, he poured them each a glass, carried them over to where Tatara sat, and sunk down onto the sofa beside him.

“Happy new year,” Mikoto said simply.

“To a new start,” Tatara replied, tapping his glass against Mikoto’s before taking a long sip. “I’ve missed alcohol, being in that hospital for so long…” he mused, and Mikoto responded with a soft chuckle.

“I’ve missed a lot of things…” Tatara continued. “The bar, our bed, being able to take a shower, good food...” He sighed, seemingly in relief. “I’m just glad to be home- I’m normally only ever in hospital for a day or two; spending almost three weeks there had me about ready to pull my hair out,” he said light-heartedly.

“You should be more concerned that being in hospital is a normal thing to you,” Mikoto pointed out.

“I know, I know. I’ll try and keep myself out of trouble from now on,” Tatara promised, though his definition of ‘trying to keep himself out of trouble’ often wasn’t quite up to the same standard as anyone else’s.

They sat quietly after that, leaning against one another and enjoying the feeling of finally being home as they slowly drained their flutes of champagne. Tatara made a face every time he took a sip of his drink- it was far more bitter than the fruity wines and cocktails he normally drank, but the warm fog that the alcohol began to leave in his brain was welcome, so he tolerated it. It was nice to finally relax.

Once the glasses were empty, Mikoto got to his feet once more to put them in the sink behind the bar, then stoppered the champagne bottle and returned it to the fridge.

“Bed?” Tatara suggested, and Mikoto nodded. He padded over to where Tatara sat and carefully lifted him into his arms.

“I can walk, you know,” Tatara protested, but ultimately didn’t put up a struggle, allowing his lover to carry him bridal-style up the stairs. When they reached the top, Tatara noticed that Mikoto’s chest heaved and his breath had deepened, as though he’d had to exert himself to carry Tatara’s light frame. Mikoto had always been physically strong, but Tatara supposed that now he was merely mortal again, the abhuman strength that used to allow him to bear Tatara’s weight as easily as he would a child’s had vanished along with the rest of his powers. He chose not to say anything about it.

Mikoto nudged the door of his bedroom open with his foot, then lay Tatara down on the bed before sinking down onto the mattress beside him. Tatara leaned his head back against the pillow briefly, inhaling the familiar scent of the sheets.

“Smells like home,” he observed, and Mikoto grunted in agreement.

“Are you alright, King?” As soon as the nickname escaped his lips, Tatara hesitated, afraid that he’d made a faux-pas. He bit his tongue, and his gaze dropped.

“I’m fine,” Mikoto replied. There was no indication in his voice or his body language that the old alias bothered him. “…Don’t stop calling me King,” he added after a moment. “’S weird when you call me by my given name.”

“You’ll always be my King to me,” Tatara asserted and kissed him on the cheek, then he rolled slowly off the bed onto his feet.

“Careful,” Mikoto warned.

“I’m just getting changed,” Tatara reassured him. As he reached for the buttons of his shirt, his fingers paused a fraction of an inch away from them, suddenly shy. It wasn’t like Mikoto had never seen him naked before, but the dressings on his wound made him self-conscious. He didn’t want Mikoto to have to look at them; he wanted to forget that his injury had ever happened, forget that the whole of the last three weeks had ever happened. He turned to face away from his lover, fumbling almost clumsily with his buttons.

Mikoto had evidently noticed his hesitance and raised an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Just… you don’t need to see all these bandages and stuff…”

Mikoto sighed, sitting up and moving to kneel on the edge of the bed. With a gentle hand on his waist, he turned Tatara around to face him, undid the buttons for him, and pushed the fabric off his shoulders to pool on the ground. He didn’t flinch at the sight of the gauze taped to Tatara’s ribs. Instead, he tugged his own shirt off and handed it to Tatara, who took it gratefully and pulled it on. The garment hung loosely from his thin frame, hiding the bandages, and as he pulled it over his head, he inhaled deeply, breathing in the musky scent of his lover.

Mikoto laid back down again and slipped off his jeans, and Tatara followed suit, stepping out of his trousers before getting into the bed and pulling the covers over the both of them. Mikoto wound his arm around Tatara’s waist and pulled him in close, pressing his lover’s back against his chest and savouring the contact where their bare skin touched. A sigh of relief escaped his lips and ruffled Tatara’s hair- the comfort and familiarity of their bed, and the warmth of Tatara’s body in his arms began to unwind the stress that had coiled in his gut over the past few weeks, but as it disappeared, a cold, heavy guilt trickled in to fill the void it had left behind. The sight of the bandages and the knowledge of what was concealed beneath them made him almost nauseous.

Now that the pain of keeping his powers contained was gone and he no longer had to spend every waking moment putting a conscious effort into controlling them, he could finally reflect on the last few weeks, and the sight of the dressings had dragged those uncomfortable thoughts to the forefront of his mind. And to dwell on them hurt almost more than the flames licking at the inside of his ribcage had.

He had always been told that they were meant to protect, and yet he hadn’t protected the most important person in his world. Therefore, responsibility for everything that had happened in the past few weeks lay squarely on himself, at least as far as Mikoto was concerned. The wound between Tatara’s ribs, the anguish Tatara must have felt when he was held hostage inside his own body by the Colourless King, the weeks he’d spent confined to a hospital bed, and every throb of pain he’d felt since that night on the rooftop... if Mikoto’s powers had really been made to protect, he would have, _should_ have protected Tatara from all of that.  

“Sorry,” he mumbled under his breath.

“For what?” Tatara glanced at him over his shoulder, his eyebrow quirked in confusion.

“You almost died because of me.”

“It wasn’t your fault...” Tatara insisted.

“He did what he did to get to me.”

Mikoto had loathed to let Tatara get close to him. He hated himself for falling in love, and this was why: anyone who got close to him was put in the line of fire, and it was only a matter of time until Tatara got seriously hurt, or even killed. Every minute since the shooting, Mikoto was uncomfortably cognisant of the fact that, if the bullet had been another inch to the left, Tatara would have bled out on the rooftop and Mikoto never would have seen him alive again.

That was the burden of the Red King: the knowledge that his very existence was a threat, and therefore he had been forced to walk a solitary path. Tatara was the only person who’d ever really come close to understanding him, but the price Mikoto paid for having him was the knowledge that, at any moment, he could be snatched away, and it would be on his own head.

“That doesn’t make it your fault, King,” Tatara protested. “He was a madman- that’s not on you. You did everything you could, and you abdicated when your powers became too out of control and they couldn’t be used to protect anymore.”

“They were always out of control.”

Tatara sighed, turning his head to face Mikoto. “If they were really out of control, we’d both be dead. But we aren’t, and things are going to get better now- it’s New Year’s Eve. We get our fresh start, no more worrying about Swords of Damocles or anything like that. No more nightmares, no more burns.” Tatara twined his fingers with Mikoto’s, gently running the pad of his thumb across a patch of shiny skin where his powers had scorched his hands on Ashinaka island.

Mikoto gave a stiff nod. “It’s a relief, I guess,” he said, though there was no conviction in his voice.

“But…?”

“Now I _can’t_ protect you.”

Tatara sighed. “That was never your job.”

“I put you in danger in the first place, so yeah, it is.”

“You didn’t put me in danger. I knew it was dangerous, being with you; I knew it better than anyone.” There was a faintly guilty look on Tatara’s face as he remembered all the years that he’d kept Anna’s prediction a secret from Mikoto. “But _I chose_ to stay with you anyway, and that was on me. Maybe I did get hurt a couple of times, but being by your side is worth it.”

“Okay,” Mikoto replied, but there was still an uncertain quality to his voice.

“What is it, King?”

“You said you were drawn to me because you thought I would become someone special.”

“Yeah…?”

“I’m not anymore.”

“King…” Tatara sighed. “Yeah, maybe that was why I was drawn to you in the first place. But I stayed because I fell in love with you. Not the Red King. _You._ Suoh Mikoto. Even if you’re not a King anymore, you’re still the most special person in the world to me.”

Mikoto pressed his lips to the top of Tatara’s head gratefully, tightening his embrace around him. Mikoto felt himself finally beginning to relax, until the quiet, half-stifled sound of Tatara’s breath hitching brought him back to himself, and he furrowed his brow in concern.

“What’s wrong?”

“Now you aren’t a King anymore, you don’t need me.” Tatara’s voice was thick and wavering, as though he was doing his best to hold back a sob.

“I told you, you aren’t just a stopper,” Mikoto murmured, stroking his hair gently. “Like you said, ‘s why I was drawn to you in the first place, but I love you because you’re you.”

The sob burst past Tatara’s lips, and he rolled over in Mikoto’s arms to bury his face against his chest.

“I love you too… more than anything.” Another whimper tore up his throat as the weight of the last few weeks finally broke through the smiling mask he’d shut it up behind. Tears streamed down his cheeks and dampened Mikoto’s shirt. “I’m so sorry… for everything…”

“Shh… it’s okay…”

Tatara lifted his head weakly to kiss him, and Mikoto cupped his jaw, wiping the droplets off his cheek with his thumb. They stayed like that for a drawn-out moment, until the trembling of Tatara’s shoulder finally ceased and the tears stopped flowing.

“It’s New Year’s Eve. Tomorrow’s the first day of the rest of our lives. Things will get better, everything will turn out alright,” Tatara said, his voice still unsteady, but full of conviction.

“Right,” Mikoto agreed, then pressed another kiss to Tatara’s forehead. Eager to let go of the stress, he reached into the bedside drawer for a cigarette and drew it to his lips. Then, he paused, realising that he had nothing to light it with. A look of understanding crossed Tatara’s face, and he lifted his hand to the tip of the cigarette and clicked his fingers. A spark flashed between them, igniting the tobacco. Mikoto gave Tatara an odd look, but then nodded gratefully and took a drag, letting the smoke escape past his lips in lazy ribbons that coiled upwards towards the ceiling. He closed his eyes in relaxation, enjoying the quiet buzz of the nicotine as he played with Tatara’s hair.

When he stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table, he found Tatara's eyes had fallen closed, and the rhythm of the rising and falling of his chest had slowed. Mikoto watched him, savouring the peaceful look on his face. It seemed like so long since he'd seen Tatara looking completely at ease, but before the shooting there had barely been a moment when he _didn't_ look untroubled, even at the most inappropriate of times.

It had been a while since he felt relaxed himself, too. In fact, he couldn't remember feeling properly content since before he was chosen by the Slates. Even in the rare, precious moments in the middle of the night when he lay with Tatara's sleeping form tucked under his arm and felt for the most part in control, there would always be the quiet, nagging pain deep within his chest, the fear that he wouldn't be able to keep that control over his powers, and in an instant of weakness, he'd turn everything he'd built to ash around himself.

And now, all that was gone. There was nothing. No pain. Nothing but residual fear. Reflexive, habitual dread of his own destructive power that would eventually fade with time now that power was gone.

Mikoto had been uncertain before renouncing his throne, almost afraid. There was no telling what the consequences would be, both for him and his clan; Homra could dissolve with no King to lead them; him and his family could become targets now that he no longer had the means to defend them. But suddenly, all of that ceased to matter to him. Because now, he could lay in his bed with his lover sleeping peacefully in his arms without the fear that, someday, the only person he'd ever truly opened up to would die because of him. To Mikoto, that one simple thing, was heaven.

He lost track of time, lying there like that. It wasn't until the bells of the nearby temple began to count down to the new year, that he realised how many hours had slipped past in that peaceful haze. The sound didn't disturb Tatara- he was too far gone for it to even register with him. The final bell tolled, and the night sky erupted with millions of tiny stars as fireworks burst upwards into the winter air. The coloured light flashed through the gaps in the curtains, casting a lightshow onto the wall of their bedroom. Mikoto didn't bother to look up and watch them; in his opinion, the person sleeping next to him was far more beautiful. So he was content to lie like this and relish in the calm within that room. Tatara was warm and safe in his arms, and that was all Mikoto had wanted for as long as he could remember. As the crackling of the fireworks began to die down, Mikoto drifted off, lulled to sleep by the slow, soft sound of his lover's breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've also written an epilogue to this fic, titled _Breathless_ which is available [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7452472) It's set around Tatara's birthday, and shows them adjusting to life after Tatara's injury and Mikoto's abdication.


End file.
